Dark Days, Black Nights
by Titch360
Summary: A new criminal organization moves into Gotham, turning the town upside down and possibly sending the Dynamic Duo to their graves.
1. Chapter 1

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 1

Damian regained consciousness with a gasp. He had no idea where he was, the room around him didn't match the last one he remembered. The gasp, and the sudden jerk of his head sent spasms of pain coursing through his little body. He tried to take a deep breath, and coughed against the blood, dust, and debris that was clogging his mouth and nose. The coughing fit sent pain shooting through his left side, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. _Broken ribs, but I remember that from before…before what?_ The shortness of breath was more concerning to the damaged bird. _Did I puncture a lung?_

Damian turned his head, taking in the room around him. His neck was sore, as was the rest of his body, but his neck didn't scream at him to stop moving as he turned it around. Maybe having the transplanted spine, reinforced with steel, had just saved his life.

He was alone in a small office. The place looked like a bomb hit it, which as far as Damian could remember, it might have. There were posters and a corkboard barely hanging from the wall to his right. The wall to his left, less than five feet away, had a large, jagged hole in it. _Maybe it was a bomb, _Damian thought. Had he been able to look behind him, deeper into the office, he would have seen two dead thugs. One had a broken neck, the other a smashed skull. Damian would never know that those men, who he had been fighting mere minutes before, had saved his life. All three had been blasted through the left hand wall, and only the fact that Damian had hit the men, instead of the cinderblock wall on the far side of the room, had kept him from sharing their fate.

He looked down at himself, taking inventory of his injuries. The first thing he noticed was he was wearing his Robin costume. As he surveyed the red costume, some places stained darker with blood from several deep gashes in his chest and stomach, the night's activities began to return to him.

Batman and Robin had been chasing the henchmen of a new player in Gotham. They still didn't have a name for the new criminal mastermind. So far, he had successfully completed several high profile heists of technology firms and chemical manufacturers. The crew had left precious few clues to their identity or their overall plan. Batman was puzzled, because the overall thefts had no connection. The items stolen were only of marginal value, and they could only be used together with the addition of several more components. So far, and as far as the Dynamic Duo was aware, the new gang didn't have those components. Batman's working theory was that the crew was stealing the items in a random order to divert suspicion as to the final…thing. They still didn't know what that thing was, and had only gotten this close to the crew tonight through a lucky tip, and being in the right place at the right time.

Damian no longer felt the tip was so lucky. He lifted his right arm to wipe his forehead. The glove came away bloody from a gash in the boy's forehead. More alarmingly was how much his wrist hurt when he touched his head. He slowly peeled back the gauntlet and noticed the dark purple discoloration and swelling. _Yep, that wrist is broken. This day just keeps getting better._

He gently put his right arm back down and lifted his left arm. The arm itself didn't hurt, but the movement sent fire through his broken ribs. He tried to sit up, propping himself on his left elbow until the nausea overtook him, and he laid down again until the wave of dizziness passed. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up, not because it may hurt, but because of the fact that he is Robin, and Robin is _not_ going to throw up while in uniform. He was also well aware that he could barely move, and if he did throw up, it had the possibility of staying up and strangling him as he tried to clear his mouth. He tried again to sit up, more slowly this time. His vision began to dim, but cleared as he allowed himself to get adjusted to his new altitude. He continued to look over his injuries, his mind not processing things nearly as fast as it should. _I'm guessing I have a pretty good concussion._

One thought came clearly through the fog of his mind. With all of the injuries he had seen so far, why didn't he hurt more? Yes, he was in great pain, but even with his high tolerance for pain, he should be feeling all this more.

The answer should have been obvious, but Damian didn't want to believe what his mind should have been telling him: _nerve damage_. It didn't hurt because his nerves were so fried from constantly firing while he had been unconscious. A minute later, Damian would be very glad for that small reprieve.

As he sat up, his eyes were able to focus on his lower body. His left leg appeared to be trapped under a section of the wall. He hoped the leg was just trapped, and not pinned. He would gladly take another broken bone, so long as he got to keep his leg.

He looked down at his right leg, and was not sure what he was seeing was actually happening. He stared dumbly down at the leg, thinking '_That is really going to hurt once I can feel it.'_ His leg started out going in the normal manner. Once his leg got to his knee, it took a ninety degree right turn. He also saw that it took a one hundred eighty degree twist. His mind just couldn't comprehend that he was looking at his heel, instead of the top of his foot. His vision began to dim again, and Damian laid back down, unsure of what to do next.

Another cough racked his body, sending more pain shooting through his shattered ribs. The pain caused a clear thought to shoot into his mind. Batman! Where was Batman?

They had been fighting with the goons, hoping for a quick encounter. That was not to be, as they just kept coming. Batman and Robin had become separated, and the fight became quickly overwhelming. Robin had heard shots fired, but didn't see where they hit. And then…and then…what? It was right there, as if coming to him through a slow internet connection, the page loading in fits and starts. After the shots, Batman had gone down, Robin hadn't seen him again. He didn't have too much time to look, though. He remembered the next person to come into the room had been wearing some sort of vest. He held his arm up…and the next thing Robin remembered was waking up in severe pain, in the next room. What happened to Batman?

Damian sat up again and looked into the next room through the shattered wall. On the floor, about twenty feet away, he saw a black shrouded form that should be the right size for Batman. He called out, yelling as loud as he could manage, "Batman! Batman, are you okay?" The yell, unfortunately, was barely loud enough for Damian to hear, and nowhere near loud enough to carry across the space to Batman. Damian pressed the key for his communicator to contact Batman. All he got was static. It didn't occur to him for the three minutes he attempted to use the ruined communicator that the transmitter had been smashed beyond repair on his trip through the wall. It was no use.

_I had really hoped no to have to do this_ Damian thought. He tried to move, pain shooting through his right leg as the bones ground against each other. What he thought would be his first problem actually was not. His left leg slid easily, and relatively painlessly, out from under the section of wall. Instead of being propped on his foot, like he thought, the wall was actually being held up by pieces of a smashed chair leg. Moving his foot in his boot sent a sharp pain through him, revealing several broken bones in the foot, but otherwise no permanent damage. He tried to get to his knees to crawl over to Batman, but his right arm would not support any weight. Robin collapsed back on his side, attempting to catch his breath as spasms of pain coursed through his body. Black spots clouded in from the edges of his vision as he began to lose consciousness. He fumbled for his utility belt and activated his emergency distress beacon, the one thing in his utility belt that he swore he would never use. If it was working, it would only be a matter of minutes before the signal was received and the "B" team was dispatched, if they would come at all. Sure, his relationship with Drake had improved, a bit, but he was still upset that Dick had chosen him for Robin, instead of Drake. If nothing else, he would come for Grayson, still slumped on the storeroom floor.

His vision clearing again, Damian began the long crawl over to Batman. He pulled himself along, inch by inch, on his elbows. They were the only part of his body he felt could support his weight. Every move of his left arm sent fire through his broken ribs. As he crawled over the broken wall into the storeroom, his leg straightened out, causing the boy to collapse with a whimper, tears of pain streaming from his eyes.

He didn't know how long he laid there, waiting for the pain to subside. When it did, he resumed dragging his broken body towards his mentor. Robin happened to glance to his left, to where he last remembered seeing the man in the vest. There now was a pair of boots, filled with a smoking half-pair of legs, both ending at the knee. Damian was only partially aware that he was crawling through the liquefied remains of the suicide bomber.

He reached Batman's side after three times as long as Damian initially thought the trip would take. Batman was laying on his side, blood oozing from three bullet holes in his chest. While the Bat-suit's Kevlar material was usually bullet-resistant, these thugs had been using "cop killers," armor piercing rounds designed to turn a bulletproof vest into so much confetti. Damian was surprised Batman was still breathing, even though the breath was labored, and getting shallower by the minute. Damian clutched at the emergency beacon again, silently begging for the cavalry to hurry up.

Damian's strength was fading fast as he tried to stop the flow of blood from Batman's chest. His vision became blurry as he held the edge of his cape to the man's wounds, begging the blood to stop. Damian didn't notice the black spots in his vision as he attempted to save Batman. He only noticed the blood, flowing down Batman's chest as the tears flowed down his cheeks. After several minutes, Damian's strength gave out, and he collapsed back onto his side, unable to move. His last thought was, "I'm sorry, I failed you," before finally losing consciousness.

**A/N: Well, here is the first chapter of a new direction for me and my writing, serialized chapters. I haven't decided how long this will be yet, but I have had this idea for a while. Stay tuned for the rest of the story, which will introduce a brand new villain, who, if you know your Bat history, is actually not new at all. He is actually one of the oldest Bat villains out there, and I am guaranteeing that most, if not all, of you readers out there have never heard of him. Just to keep all of you in suspense, the villain won't be introduced properly until at least chapter 3 or 4.**

**Standard Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The only concern I have about writing this story is that I don't know who owns the rights to my main villain, if anyone owns them at all. The storyline in which the villain originally appeared is not actually owned by DC, as far as I can tell. It predates DC by several decades. I get tired of the same Rogue's Gallery villains all the time, so I thought I would delve back through time to come up with an interesting foil for the Dynamic Duo. At least, when I bring him into the modern day, he should be a good evil counterpart. The original character is quite dated by today's standards, but I think I can fix that.**


	2. Chapter 2

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 2

"Oracle to Red Robin, come in. We have an emergency."

Red Robin tapped his cowl, activating his comm device. "Just a minute, I'm tying up a few loose ends." The 'loose ends' Tim was tying up were actually two criminals he had caught robbing a jewelry store. He was tying them to a light pole after he had called the police to pick them up.

Walking away, he reactivated his communicator. "Okay, Oracle. What's the emergency?"

The voice replied, "Twenty minutes ago, we monitored an explosion at a warehouse at 5th and Johnson."

Tim sighed as he Bat-roped himself to the top of an apartment building, "Not exactly an emergency, O."

"Just listen, will you? Five minutes ago, I received a signal from the utility belt emergency locator beacon. I can't raise anyone on regular channels. I need you to go investigate."

"What about Robin? Why can't he go and see what trouble D…Batman has gotten himself into?"

Oracle's voice was insistent, "They were patrolling together. The emergency beacon…was Robin's. They have been investigating a new cell in town, and tracked them to the warehouse. Please, Tim, check it out, quickly."

He was amazed at what he heard. "Robin's beacon? Didn't he say he would only use it over his dead body?" Tim was instantly sorry he phrased it that way. He knew Damian only carried the emergency beacon in his belt because Dick swore we would banish Damian from patrolling if he didn't. "5th and Johnson? That's close to Hood's territory. Call him, have him meet me there. I'm on my way."

"I'm not exactly his favorite person. You know that. How do you even know he will take the call?"

"Patch him through to me, I'll talk to him." Tim swung through the Gotham night and waited for his next call.

A minute later, Jason's cocky voice crackled through Tim's earpiece. "Well, hello Replacement. Or, should I say, Burger Joint?"

Tim hated the day that the Red Robin restaurant chain had opened its first location in Gotham. Dick and Jason had insisted the family go for dinner on opening day. Since then, Jason had insisted on adding to Tim's list of nicknames. He had been 'Burger Joint', 'Burger Boy', 'Restaurant', and several others. Tim wasn't sure if they were worse than 'Replacement', but it did let him know that Jason was beginning to accept him. Jason had called him much worse over the years.

"Now is not the time, Hood. I need your help. Did O tell you about the explosion?"

Jason laughed, "She didn't have to. I'm about ten blocks away from it right now. I could see the fireball and feel the shockwave from here. What's so important about checking it out?"

"Batman and Robin were inside the warehouse during the explosion. We monitored an emergency beacon from the site."

"You have my condolences. Should we move into the cave and take over? You can be my Robin. No point going to the warehouse, Replacement, no one could have survived that blast."

Tim actually felt angry that Jason wasn't taking this seriously. He swooped through the Gotham night as he explained. "The explosion took place twenty minutes ago. The emergency beacon didn't start until five minutes ago, and it is still being received. Just meet me there, please Jason?"

"I still don't see the emergency. Dickiebird must just be lonely tonight." Jason sounded worried, even though he didn't mean to. He was sure Tim had heard the change in his tone of voice.

Tim had heard it. "Jay, it was Robin's beacon. You know how he felt about the beacon. It can only be a real emergency if we got his beacon, and not Big Bird's."

"Demon Brat set it off?" _Poor choice of words, Jason_. "Must be bad. I want to see this, now. I'll be there in about five minutes."

"Thank you, Jason. I should be there just ahead of you. Restaur…Red Robin, out." _Damn it, now he's got me thinking it._ He heard Jason's chuckle before the line went dead.

_Four and one half minutes later_

Red Robin landed outside of what was left of the warehouse and picked his way through the rubble towards the building. Looking up at the third floor, he saw a section of wall that had been blown out. He could see through the hole that a section of the roof had collapsed as well. He decided to take the boring route to the storeroom, and entered through the front door before climbing the stairs to the top floor storeroom.

Entering the storeroom, Tim thought Jason may have been right in his initial assessment. He was having a hard time believing that anyone could have survived the devastation of the room in front of him. _If they knew a bomb was about to go off, where would they have gone to hide?_

There was an office to his left that was as likely a place as any. Tim opened the door as much as possible and stuck his head inside. _Okay, maybe not the safest place to be, after all._ Inside the office were two dead men on the opposite side of the room from a large hole, obviously from the blast.

Tim turned towards the door as he heard a low whistle. He saw Jason entering the space, taking off his red hood and staring slack-jawed at the wreckage. "Where are they?"

Tim shrugged, "Just got here, I haven't seen them yet."

"How about the office?"

Tim shook his head. "No, I just checked. Two dead men inside. Neither are Batman or Robin."

The two Bat boys made their way further into the room, scanning the debris and bodies for the two for which they were looking. The detective training Bruce had drilled into them took over, and Tim stopped to examine drag marks on the floor. They seemed to lead from the wall of the office, past an odd clearing. Tim returned to the office and saw that the drag marks began near the wreckage of the wall. He also noticed a good deal of blood in the drag path. He followed the path to the clearing, where Jason was examining a pair of legs.

Jason nodded to the remains. "This must be what's left of the bomber. I've seen this before: most likely a suicide vest."

Tim had already walked away, following the drag marks. He looked towards the wall and saw two bodies they hadn't checked yet, one unusually smaller than the rest in the room. "Jay! There they are! In the corner."

Jason whipped his head around and saw the two lumps Tim was pointing to. Tim couldn't help but notice that the drag marks ended at the smaller of the two bodies. Jason ran over and checked Batman. "He's been shot. Three times, upper chest. The bullets penetrated the uniform."

Tim didn't want to ask, he was too scared to know. He couldn't even approach closer than the six feet away he currently was. "Is he…is he still alive?"

Jason felt for a pulse on Dick's neck and sighed with relief. "Yes, but just barely. He's lost a lot of blood. His pulse is weak, but it's there."

Tim sighed and closed his eyes, relieved. Then his eyes snapped open again. "What about Robin?"

Jason rolled the boy onto his back, feeling for a pulse while trying not to be repulsed at the unnaturally floppy way the youth's body moved. Too many parts moving where there were no natural joints. His pulse was strong, so much so that Jason almost expected the unconscious hero to bite at his hand out of reflex. "He's alive, but he took quite a beating. I don't like the way some of those injuries look."

Tim nodded. He had seen the way Damian's body had flopped around and was trying to hold down his dinner. He whispered, "This isn't right."

"What?" Jason glanced up at the teen and saw that he looked pale. He never liked to show his softer side to the family, but this once, he felt for his replacement.

Tim began quietly, but was easily heard in the deathly quiet room. "He doesn't deserve this. He may be a Demon Brat. He may be a son of a bitch, but he doesn't deserve to be beaten and left for dead like this. Did you notice the drag marks? He wasn't here. He dragged himself over here to check on Dick."

Jason nodded. "Look at the cape, the bottom is bloody. Looks like he tried to stop Dickiebird's bleeding before he passed out. Call it in, we need to get them to a hospital now."

Tim nodded and activated his communicator. "O, we found them, they're alive. They need some serious medical attention; the medical bay at the cave won't do it this time."

Jason butted in, "Gotham Mercy is a block away. I have some friends there, I think I can guarantee some Bat-anonymity."

Tim started again, "Did you get that? Have Dr. Thompkins meet us there as soon as possible, we're going to need her. Inform Agent A, but have him stay away, he's too recognizable. I'll report in as soon as I know more."

Oracle replied, "I'm calling Dr. Thompkins now. I need an update as soon as possible." Her voice sounded pained. She still had feelings for Dick, and was one of the few people who could stand Damian for extended periods of time.

Jason turned back to Batman and Robin, and began to pick up Batman. "Come on, Baby Bird, he aint heavy, he's your brother."

Tim hesitated, still not wanting to get any closer. Jason stood up, walked over, and placed his arm around Tim's shoulders. "Come on, we need to get them to the hospital now. Dick's lost a lot of blood, he can't have much left."

Tim nodded, but still didn't move. Jason pulled the teen in tighter, now in a side hug as they looked at the fallen Dynamic Duo. "We need to do this, now."

Tim was shaking as he whispered, "I don't want to make anything worse by moving him."

Jason walked the teen hero forward, approaching their oldest and youngest brothers. "Tim, look at him, there is nothing you can do to make it worse, but there is everything you can do to make it better. He may have a long way to go before anyone could call him human, but I know you want to give him that chance. Family helps each other, especially in the darkest of times. Now, pick up our brother and move your ass."

Jason put his hood back on before picking Dick up and heading for the door. Tim picked up Damian, acutely scared of the way the Little Bat's leg was swaying. He followed Jason down the stairs and out the door.

As they hurried to the hospital, just a block away, Tim addressed his brother. "I've never heard you talk that way before; about family and all that."

Jason was glad Tim couldn't see through his hood as he blushed. "Needed to get you moving."

Tim wasn't buying it, but he thought Jason would shut down if he pushed too hard. Still, he continued, "Why don't you come around more often? It doesn't have to be all the time, but maybe more than once every five months? We could…we could be something closer to that family you were talking about. It would make Alfred happy."

Jason smiled under his hood. He didn't know Tim felt this way, but always had suspicions. "Just hurry up; Bat-tusi here is bleeding all over me." He noticed Tim's expression change even through his cowl. "Still, I do miss Alfred's cooking."

The brothers entered the emergency room of Gotham Mercy Hospital, the Red Hood yelling for a doctor. A trauma team rushed to the two costumed vigilantes, dragging gurneys and arranging the injured heroes on the rolling beds. The medical personnel rushed the Bat and the Bird into the trauma unit, Reds Hood and Robin following. As they were placed in adjoining bays, Red Hood took the time to call for the attention of the doctors and nurses.

"Listen up, everyone. You all know me here. You know what I do and what I'm capable of. These are not only good friends of mine, they are Gotham's first line of defense. While you may be tempted to learn a few secrets, their identities must remain a secret. I will be quite unhappy if anyone chooses to break my trust, if you get my drift." Jason patted the gun, still strapped to his hip as he asked. He saw several staff members gulp and pale visibly.

The lead doctor approached the costumed men, speaking for everyone when he said, "We will respect their anonymity. Is there anything else you would like of us?"

Jason glared at the man before realizing the doctor couldn't see through the mask. "Their masks and cowls stay on at all times. No cameras or recording devices in the surgical suites or recovery rooms. My partner and I will be observing from the surgical observation suites." He leaned closer and whispered to the man, "And, for God's sake, please save them. They are very important to me."

The doctor turned to his staff and started issuing orders. In less than ten minutes, Dick was wheeled into surgery, while Damian was taken for x-rays. As soon as the x-rays were developed, Damian was rushed into his own surgery. Red Hood was shown into the observation room for Batman's surgery. Red Robin was led to the observation room for Robin's surgery. If either of the observers could see each other, they would never have relaxed. Since they were each alone, they both sat down and watched the surgeries, while trying to stay awake as the adrenaline rush wore off.

Dr. Leslie Thompkins arrived at Gotham Mercy Hospital thirty minutes later. She stuck her head into each of the observation rooms to greet the former Robins before running off to scrub up for surgery. She ran back and forth between the operating suites, getting updates and helping out where possible.

Tim sat in his observation room, equal parts amazed and disgusted at what he saw below him. The doctor, choosing to address Damian's most serious wound first, was picking bone fragments out of the boy's lung and handing them to an assistant, who was busy reassembling the numerous pieces into four individual ribs. Tim had never thought of himself as weak-stomached before, but sitting there, looking inside the current Robin's chest, he was having a hard time keeping his dinner down. _I don't think I will ever be able to look at Damian the same way, _the former Boy Wonder thought.

An hour after she arrived, Dr. Thompkins returned to Tim's observation room to give an update. Tim activated his comm device so that Jason and Barbara could hear without him having to repeat it over again.

She began, "These two took quite a beating tonight. Batman was shot three times in the upper chest, with penetration of his body armor. He lost an estimated forty percent of his blood volume. If you had been any later in bringing him in, we would be planning a funeral now, instead of continuing surgery."

Tim looked like a lost child as he asked, "But, he's going to be okay, right?"

Leslie smiled at the teen, "Fortunately, you Bats are tough, and he is a very common blood type, so we are able to transfuse him and replenish his blood volume fairly easily."

Tim repeated, "But, he's going to be okay, right?"

"Yes, Red Robin, he will be just fine."

Tim jumped, then cringed as both Jason and Barbara yelled in celebration, the combined noise almost deafening him. He forgot that he had turned up the gain on his communicator so both could hear the update. Leslie smiled widely as Tim reached under his cowl and rubbed his ear.

"You don't happen to have a hearing specialist at this hospital, do you?"

"I think you'll be fine. Now, about Robin." Tim glanced back into the surgical suite at the mention of his alias. "He suffered a lot of damage. From top to bottom, he has a scalp laceration with a small surface crack in his skull. X-ray's show that the crack doesn't penetrate all the way through the bone, and should heal up on its own in a week or so. Moving down, he has four shattered ribs on his left side, with fragments penetrating his left lung. The lung is collapsed, and the surgeon is removing close to one hundred fragments. The lung will be over sown and inflated first, then the ribs will be replaced when the pieces are reassembled. He is a very lucky boy."

Jason's voice could be heard from the tiny speaker, "He didn't look too lucky to me, doc."

She continued, "He is lucky because all of the shrapnel damage is confined to the lung and missed the heart completely. There is one fragment that missed the heart by less than half an inch."

Barbara gasped over the radio, "Oh my."

"Will it heal after surgery?" Tim asked nervously.

"Yes. Three months from now, no one will ever know he had a chest injury. We can even do something about the scarring so it will be barely noticeable."

Tim smirked, "Don't bother. Robin seems to like his scars. He would never forgive us if we took that one away from him." Both Jason and Barbara chuckled over the speaker.

"Moving on, his right wrist has a simple fracture of both ulna and radius. Once the swelling subsides, we can cast it. It will heal in a couple weeks. He has a gash in his belly that nicked the small intestine. The surgeon will have to go in and fix the cut before suturing the gash. He has two broken bones in his left foot that will heal on their own in about the same time frame as the wrist, we will cast after surgery."

Leslie looked away, and Tim knew she was getting to the worst of it. He looked back at the child in surgery. The surgeon had pulled the final fragment from the lung and was closing the puncture wounds in the tissue. His aide had reassembled two of the ribs and was working on the third. "Doctor, what are they using to hold the ribs together?"

She looked relieved that she didn't have to continue with the injury report just yet. "Surgical screws, surgical adhesive, duct tape, chewing gum. You know, the usual stuff."

Tim looked at her oddly. He knew she was trying to lighten the mood and be funny, but his sleep deprived and emotionally compromised mind just wouldn't process it. His only reply was, "Oh, okay."

She knew she was on to the bad news now. Jason's voice came through the comm again. "What about his knee, doc? That didn't look too good to me."

She sighed, not looking at Tim. "His knee was completely smashed. It's not salvageable. The surgeon will have to perform a total knee replacement." Tim hung his head, Barbara gasped over the speaker, and Jason was silent. She continued, "He will have the best possible replacement on the market. He will have 80, maybe 85 percent of his previous mobility back after he recovers. He will walk again, maybe even run someday. But, I'm afraid I have to recommend he hang up the cape, so to speak. I know the kind of work you do, how tough it is on the body. His injury will always be a liability in the field. It may never completely stop aching. Weather changes will not be his friend. He will have to have several more surgeries over his life to replace the joint as he grows, and technology will continue to improve, which will make the implants better. But, for now, it is my recommendation, as the Bat's trusted physician since before you were born, that Robin retire from crime fighting."

Tim couldn't look at the kindly face of the doctor, now pained with having to give such news. He stared down at the boy on the table, not knowing how to react. He reached up and turned off his communicator, and was about to turn around and thank the doctor for the update, when he heard the door open softly behind him.

He heard Jason's soft voice behind him say, "Thank you for letting us know, doc. Could you go and keep an eye on Batman for me, please?" The older woman left the room, shutting the door quietly. Jason took off his helmet as he approached Tim. He pulled the teen's cowl back, revealing a face streaked with tears.

Jason pulled Tim into a tight hug as the teen broke down. He cried into Jason's chest as he gripped his older brother tightly. "He doesn't deserve this, Jason, he doesn't. We need to find whoever did this. They need to pay!"

Jason stood, holding his brother as tears escaped his own eyes. _You're getting soft, Todd._ "We'll find them, Baby Bird. We'll make them pay."

**A/N: Here we go, chapter two. Took a little longer to write than I thought, but I started a new job this week and have not had as much time. This chapter was actually not the one I originally planned, but I thought it fit a bit better than my original at this point in the tale. Of course, if anyone remembers my note from chapter one, this now means that the villain reveal will be pushed back at least one more chapter. Stay tuned, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I barely own the laptop I write my stories on, so I definitely don't own any DC characters.**

**I am thinking of writing all my future stories so they form a new, cohesive time line, though…**

**I don't think I could do any worse of a job with my timeline than DC did with the New 52.**


	3. Chapter 3

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 3

_The following takes place during Chapter 2 of Dark Days, Black Nights_

As Red Hood and Red Robin carried Batman and Robin from the storehouse, a shadowy figure observed them from an alley across the street. The heroes hurried down the block, in the general direction of Gotham Mercy Hospital, too busy to see the camera following their movements.

Once they were out of sight, the man pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed the first preset speed dial contact. It was answered on the second ring.

"Report, Agent 17."

"There were problems at the storehouse, Boss. Batman and Robin showed up. It was handled, but we are going to have to write off the storehouse at 5th and Johnson. The police should be here anytime now." As he reported that, Agent 17 could hear a faint siren growing louder in the distance. He turned around and walked down the alley.

"The storehouse is no big loss; it was just a staging area, after all. How did the Bat find out about it?"

"I don't know, Boss."

The Boss made an exaggerated inhalation noise over the connection. "Wrong answer, Agent 17. Operational security demands we know more than the Bat. I must know if he is on to us yet, or if this was just an unlucky coincidence. You and Agent 20 need to keep track of the Bat until we know if our operation had been compromised."

Agent 17 bowed his head as he lifted the collar of his coat against the cold wind. Agent 20, poor bastard. "That's going to be a problem, Boss. It was required for Agent 20 to intervene in the situation at the storehouse. He…put an end to it…at the cost of his own life."

The Boss sternly demanded, "Explain, Agent 17."

The man took a deep breath before relating the tale. "Reports coming from the storehouse told us that Batman and Robin had the upper hand and would soon be in a position to interrogate our cell members. Agent 20 chose to do the brave thing and protect the organization. He made his way to the storehouse and detonated his vest before anything could be traced back to us. The blast was big enough to destroy any evidence of our involvement with the storehouse."

The Boss took a few moments before responding, long enough that Agent 17 thought he may have lost the connection. Finally he replied, "A brave man, for sure. His sacrifice will not be forgotten. His total devotion to our cause will be honored long after our final victory."

Agent 17 felt pride in having served with Agent 20, given the Boss's glowing words. "He was a good man. I'm proud to have served with him."

"Agent 17, you will be assigned a new partner in the morning. I believe Agent 28 will be coming off assignment soon. The two of you should be an adequate pairing for your next assignment. For now, you must go back to the storehouse and make sure no one comes out alive, especially the Batman."

Agent 17 grew nervous. "Boss, that won't be possible. The cops are already on scene. I couldn't get in there now without a miracle. And…Boss, it is my displeasure to report that the Batman and Robin survived the explosion. They were carried out of the building by two other costumed freaks and taken to Gotham Mercy Hospital. They looked to be in bad shape. I can't guarantee they didn't learn anything about us before the explosion, but I can guarantee that they will not be a problem, at least for the next few days. We can always speed up the timeline…"

"What do you know of the timeline? No agent over double digits knows the timeline, or the final endgame. You are to worry about doing your job and I will worry about the timeline. This is very disappointing news, Agent 17. We will have to work at making our vests more powerful in the future, if the Batman and Robin are going to be hearty enough to survive our usual measures. Return to your hideout, Agent 17. Agent 28 will join you in the morning. You will get new instructions in the next 24 hours."

Agent 17 gulped, knowing that angering his boss was a good way to ensure he would never be eligible to use his retirement benefits. "Yes, boss. I apologize for our failure at the storehouse. I will endeavor to improve my service to you."

The Boss stated dryly, "Yes, you will. I have been satisfied with your service so far, Agent 17. I would hate to have to re-evaluate my stance on your position within the organization."

Agent 17's mouth and throat were dry. "I beg your forgiveness, Boss. 5th and Johnson cannot be traced back to the organization. Your name isn't on any documents. Even if anyone survived the blast, they can't trace anything back to you. Organization security is intact. Heck, I've been working for you for three years, and I don't even know your name. No one in the storehouse even knew there was a higher level to the organization that their own level…"

"Agent 17, you are rambling. I have already chosen not to kill you, at least not today. You will get your new orders within 24 hours."

"Yes, Boss. I…"

It was too late, the line had already gone dead as the Boss hung up. _Boy, that was a close one. This plan better be worth it_. _I'll miss you 20, you were the best partner I've ever had._ Agent 17 walked down the street towards his apartment, but turned left instead of right, heading towards Chester's Bar. He needed a drink tonight to calm his nerves, and to honor his friend.

_Somewhere Secret_

Agent 3 watched as his boss hung up the cell phone. "Is the operation still secure, Boss?"

The Boss sighed, looking at the man walking next to him. "For now, Agent 3. The Batman is getting closer faster that I predicted. Hopefully, Agent 17 is right, and we will have a few Bat free days. We will put them to good use. Please, would you make contact with Agent 6 for me?"

Agent 3 ran ahead, to the communications bunker, "At once, Boss."

Arriving in the communications bunker, the Boss found Agent 6 on the big screen via videoconference link. The man on the screen bowed respectfully and waited for the Boss to speak.

"Agent 6, I am forced to speed up your aspect of our plan. Your business in Metropolis needs to be concluded before the end of the week, the sooner the better."

The Agent on the screen looked nervous. "Of course, Boss. I have a window that I can exploit within the next thirty-six hours. We can have our whole operation back in Gotham and under organizational control by the end of the day on Thursday."

The Boss smiled, "That is acceptable, Agent 6. There can be no slip-ups with your mission. We lost a storehouse today. I want you to replace it once you are back in Gotham. I must also inform you of the loss of Agent 20. I know the two of you worked together before. Know that his sacrifice was for the cause and he died performing his duty without hesitation, as any Agent should."

The Agent on the screen sniffed at the sad news. Agent 6 had been Agent 20's training officer when Agent 20 joined the organization. Agent 20 had always showed promise; his loss would be deeply felt in the organization. "Thank you for letting me know, Boss. I am proud to have served with him."

"Remember, end of the day Thursday."

"It will be done, Boss."

The boss walked out of the communications bunker, Agent 3 following in his wake. The Boss didn't look back, he knew Agent 3 would be there.

"Agent 3, get me everything we have on the Batman. I will be in my quarters."

Agent 3 stopped and turned around, returning to the Communications bunker, "At once, Boss."

As he walked to his quarters, the Boss thought, _I didn't anticipate the Batman getting so close so soon. The loss of the storehouse is negligible, but it shows that Batman and Robin have some potential. They may become a threat before this is over. I must learn their true identities before I am forced to deal with them. It will be satisfying to see their reactions when I reveal their secret identities just before I end their lives._

Agent 3 returned to the Boss before he had entered his chambers and handed over a thick file. "This is everything we have on the Batman. Mostly, it comes from news clippings, some dating back close to twenty years. I have assigned Agent's 14 and 15 to dig up more information for you."

The Boss smiled as he took the thick file. "Thank you, Agent 3. I appreciate your initiative. Have them report when they learn anything more."

Agent 3 left with a bow as the Boss closed the door, sat down at his desk, and delved into the past exploits of the Dark Knight.

**A/N: I know this is a bit shorter that what I usually put out, but since this is really Chapter 2 ½ and not really chapter 3, I think I can be excused. I deserve it, you are getting two chapters in one day. Any guess as to the identity of the Boss? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Nope, you're wrong. Especially anyone guessing Ra's Al Ghul. Read the details, this villain doesn't know Batman's identity, while Ra's does. Keep guessing, it will be revealed sometime in the next four chapters. Keep reading, and sending me your thoughts on what I have let escape so far. I want to know if I am heading in the right direction.**

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to point out at this point that I don't own anything? Might as well. No ownership is claimed here of the Bat Family.**


	4. Chapter 4

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 4

_The following takes place twenty hours after Dark Days, Black Nights, chapter 2._

Jason sat at Dick's bedside in the recovery room and fought sleep. The surgeon had finished Dick's surgery almost an hour ago, but they wanted to transfuse one more unit of blood before Dick was transferred to his room. According to the doctor, who was acutely scared of the pistols on Red Hood's hips, the surgery was a success, and Batman would make a full recovery within a couple weeks. The doctor then handed over a bag containing the three slugs, which were in incredibly good condition for having passed through a heavy layer of Kevlar before smashing through Dick's chest.

He had returned to Dick's surgical observation room two hours after Dr. Thompkins' update had left Tim shattered in the other observation room. He found Leslie still waiting in the observation room.

The older woman smiled at Jason as he entered. "It's good to see you again, Jason. Bruce would be proud of the way you are handling your brothers."

Jason was shocked at first, until he remembered that the doctor was one of the few people outside of the family who knew their true identities. He removed his hood and smiled at the doctor. "Tell me the truth, doc: Are they really going to be alright?"

She nodded at the man, who she was currently remembering as the teen Robin. "Yes. They are in good hands. Are you and Tim going to be okay?"

"We'll hold it together. Don't really have much choice at the moment."

She smiled again, "You had a choice, and you made it." She kissed Jason on the cheek before heading for the door, "I'm proud of you for making the right one."

Now, a nurse and an orderly entered the recovery room, startling Jason as he was about to fall asleep.

"It's just us, Mr. Hood. We are here to take Batman to his room, now."

They began to roll the bed out of the room as Jason stood and stretched. He needed to sleep, but didn't feel it would be a good idea right now. Whoever did this was still out there, and they had no idea where to look to even begin to figure out who was responsible.

He yawned as he asked, "How is D…Robin doing?"

The medical staff looked at each other before the nurse replied, "He's still in surgery. At last report, everything was going well."

Jason heard the unsaid 'but' as they pushed the unconscious hero down the hall. He had to know. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm sorry, it's not really our place to say."

Jason started getting angry, "By all means, _say_."

The nurse swallowed visibly. "There have been some complications. These are straightforward surgeries, and any one on its own would be very easy. However, having all of them in a marathon session adds to the difficulty. Also, these are time-consuming surgeries, but the surgeon has to hurry as much as possible because having the boy under anesthesia for almost a complete day, so far, can lead to brain damage and organ failure. He's doing the best he can, but the results of the individual surgeries may not matter if taking the time to do the surgeries right is just as damaging as doing no surgery at all."

Jason came to a halt, stunned at the prospect of everything going right and losing Damian anyway.

The nurse gave him a compassionate look, "I'm sorry, Mr. Hood. There really is only so much we can do."

"Thank you for telling me. Do me a favor? Don't tell Red Robin. Let me take care of that."

The nurse nodded as the orderly hooked up the monitors in Batman's room. The two left quickly as Jason sat down heavily next to the bed, head in his hands, and thought about how to break the news to Tim and Alfred. _I just have to wait, for now. Damian is a strong kid. If anyone can defy the odds, it's him._

Tim stood in the observation room, his head pressed against the glass, watching the surgery below. Tim may be a genius, but he was not medically inclined. Even so, he was beginning to think the surgery was taking too long. Damian was all kinds of hurt, but twenty hours, almost twenty one hours, in surgery? Tim craved an update, but wasn't sure he could handle it, if it was anything like Dr. Thompkins' first update. He had cried on Jason's shoulder for an hour, needing a release and surprised that Jason had stayed that long. Jason had stayed with him for another hour before returning to Dick, and Tim could honestly say that he may have misjudged the man. Jason had a human side, he just kept it tightly in check. Tim figured it was a defense mechanism, honed from being hurt one too many times in his early life. He admitted to himself that he liked the older man when he let his guard down. _Maybe we could be a close family, after all._

He had put the cowl back on soon after Jason left, feeling that he could use the mask to hide his feelings. It didn't help him, but it kept the hospital staff from asking too many questions when they came to check on him and offer him food and water. He had accepted a sandwich, which was unfortunately delivered as the surgeon below began to cut out the remains of Damian's knee before implanting the artificial replacement. Tim's stomach was growling at him for attention, but he didn't know how he could ever keep food down again after what he had seen in the past day.

Finally, twenty three hours after beginning, the surgeon stepped back from the operating table, letting the surgical assistant close the final wound, and took off his gloves and mask. The man stretched and walked to the scrub room to wash up as the assistant and nurse prepped Damian for the recovery room. As Tim saw Damian wheeled out of the operating room, an orderly knocked softly before entering the observation room to lead Red Robin to the recovery room.

Damian, still unconscious and dressed in a hospital gown and his green eye mask, looked weak and pale as the nurse cleaned and scrubbed the small body. She made sure the dressings on the wounds were clean and dry before leaving to find an orderly.

Tim approached the bed of his sometime nemesis and whispered, "Oh, Damian. If there were ever a time when I actually wanted to hear you insult me, now is it. I just wish there were something I could do for you, even though you would never accept my help."

The nurse and orderly entered to take the young hero to Batman's room, which could accommodate two beds. Tim saw Jason quickly stand up next to Dick's bed as they wheeled Damian in and hooked up his monitors. The nurse and orderly left quickly, but not before letting the room's occupants know that the doctor would be in every hour to check on the patients.

As the door closed, Jason sat back down tiredly and took off his helmet. Tim stood next to Dick's bed, seeing him for the first time since they entered the hospital yesterday. Overall, he didn't look too bad. Dick's color had returned and he was breathing without difficulty.

Tim looked back at Jason. "Has he woken up yet?"

Jason didn't look up. He shook his head, not looking at the teen. "Not yet. Tim, there is something I should tell yet. Demon Brat…Damian may not be out of the woods yet. The nurse told me there could be permanent damage from the surgery."

Tim nodded slowly, confused. "I know. Dr. Thompkins told us that."

Jason continued, "She did. However, the nurse told me that it's possible he may never wake up, and if he does, it is possible that he…he won't be the same. There could be brain damage, organ damage, he could be a vegetable. We won't know until he wakes up."

Tim looked close to tears again. He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say, so he closed his mouth again.

Jason looked the younger in the eye. "I wanted to be the one to tell you. We'll get through this. Now we have another reason to get these bastards."

Tim sat down heavily, almost falling out of the chair. He whispered, "Bruce never would have let this happen."

Jason heard the remark, but let it go because he knew it was the truth. Tim needed his release, so Jason let him vent. He expected more, but Tim left it where it was. Tim looked back at Damian, wondering what would be left of his little brother. Would he ever get the chance to fix their relationship, or to even begin one?

A silent hour later, there was a soft knock on the door before a doctor entered. He quickly checked the vital signs of the two patients before leaving the tension-filled room. After another thirty minutes, as both Jason and Tim were dozing off in their chairs, a low moan escaped from Dick. Instantly, both heroes were awake and standing next to the young Batman as he began to stir and regain consciousness.

"Owwwwwww." Dick opened his eyes, squinting against the bright lights. Slowly, his eyes focused on his younger brothers, and a soft smile crossed his lips. "What happened?"

Jason replied first, smiling, "You got blown up, Big Bird. Took half a building with you, too."

Dick looked shocked, "Only half? I must have had an off day. What did I hit? My chest is killing me."

Tim looked subdued, but responded, "Not anymore, it isn't. You were shot; it penetrated the armor. Looks like Damian saved your life by trying to stop the bleeding."

Dick was shocked again. He didn't remember any of it. He also didn't see Damian. "He did, did he? Where is my little Baby Bat?"

Tim and Jason looked at each other, then Jason moved out of the way, letting Dick see Damian for the first time. Dick gasped as he saw the boy, arm and one leg casted, the other leg immobilized in a traction rig, tubes and lines snaking from the boy to several machines. Unconsciously, Dick grabbed both Tim and Jason's hands, needing the physical contact to assure himself it wasn't a nightmare, but not-so-secretly hoping it was.

"How did this happen?"

Tim answered again, sitting down next to the bed and wrapping both hands around Dick's. "We don't know for sure, but I can at least tell you what it looked like when we arrived. When we got there, I followed a drag mark through the grime. It started in an office, went through a wall, and ended twenty feet away, where he crawled with a broken wrist, obliterated knee, shattered ribs, punctured lung, and severe concussion to attempt to stop your bleeding."

Dick winced at the description, but smiled, thinking _He did all that, to help me? He's starting to care about others than himself. That's my boy._ "What do the doctors say?"

Jason took over. "He's not doing well. We won't know anything until he wakes up, if he wakes up. He spent 24 hours in surgery, beat you by four hours, and Dr. Thompkins suggested that he retire as Robin."

Dick looked back at Tim and smiled as he saw the teen, still holding his hand, had fallen asleep, resting his head on the bed. He turned back to Jason and whispered, "How long have the two of you been here, and awake? And what did he mean by obliterated knee?"

Jason smiled at his replacement before responding. "Baby Bird called me after receiving the Brat's emergency locator beacon. We found you at the warehouse and brought you here, carried you here, we couldn't wait for an ambulance in your condition. I'm going on 36 hours, Timmy is probably going on less sleep. As for the knee, it was completely destroyed. He had to have a complete knee replacement. Dr. Thompkins should be in soon, she can explain everything to you. You need to get it all down, I'm sure the Brat will want to hear his condition from you."

Dick shook his head slowly. "I don't know what to say. Thank you, Jay."

Jason gave a rare smile, then patted Dick on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Dickiebird. We're going to need you if we're going to find out who is behind this."

"Thanks, Little Wing." Dick settled back into the bed as Jason left to get Dr. Thompkins and let her know that Dick was finally awake.

While he was gone, Batgirl came into the room and sat down in the chair Jason had vacated. "Hello, Steph."

"How are you feeling, Dick?" She looked concerned, but relieved to find him conscious. She seemed interested in the response, but kept glancing at Damian.

Dick followed her glances with a worried look. "I've been better. I don't think _he _can get much worse. The doctor should be in in a few minutes."

Stephanie looked crestfallen, but was determined to keep it together because she was in uniform. "Oracle wanted to come, and Agent A is beside himself with worry, but they are both too recognizable to be seen here."

Dick glanced at Tim, then back at Steph. "By the way, where is 'here'? I have heard a lot of 'here,' but no one has said where 'here' is."

Batgirl smiled, "You're at Gotham Mercy Hospital. It was only a block from the warehouse. Oracle said Hood carried you while RR carried Robin."

Batman was appreciative of the effort expended on their behalf. "Do me a favor, will you? Make sure Tim and Jay get home and get some sleep, please? And make sure Alfie knows we're okay."

Stephanie picked up the phone next to the bed and started dialing the number for the manor. She handed him the receiver and said, "I was told to have you call him the second you woke up, and he outranks you."

Dick smiled as he took the phone to talk to Alfred. Stephanie got up and moved to the other side of Damian's bed, looking the boy over, wanting to cry again at the sight.

Tim woke up with a start as Dick hung up the phone. He was confused for a second as he saw Steph instead of Jason, but stood and stretched as Jason and Dr. Thompkins came in. He really wanted to get out of his uniform, the same one he had been wearing for close to 48 hours, and take a hot shower.

Dr. Thompkins opened her mouth to speak, but Dick spoke up first. "Little Wing, Baby Bird, you have both done something special, and I am eternally grateful, but you are both relieved. Go home, get some sleep, and for God's sake, take a shower. Jay, Alfie is expecting you at home, don't make him hunt you down. Your bed is waiting in your room. I expect you to be there when I am released."

Jason smirked, "I expect to be _here_ when you are released. Someone has to drive you home and tuck you in. Right now, I'm too tired to argue, and I could use a good meal. Come on, Burger Boy, let's see what's cooking." Tim was too tired to comment about the name as he followed the taller man out of the room.

Leslie placed a hand on Dick's arm. "Thank you, Dick. I was wondering how to get them out of here to get some rest. They haven't left your side since they brought you in. Very little sleep, refused to eat, those boys really care about the two of you."

Dick patted the hand that was still on his arm. "Tell me, Leslie, how is Damian? How is he really? They told me he saved my life. I would hate if he couldn't hold it over me later."

Leslie smiled, then sighed, "He is not doing well at all. We'll know more once he wakes up, but my original recommendation to Jason and Tim still stands: Damian should quit while he is still above ground. That knee replacement will inhibit him for the rest of his life. He is lucky they could save the leg at all, don't push him to continue as Robin."

Dick shook his head, "I don't think I can stop him. He's just as stubborn as his father. As soon as he is walking again, he will start training again. I will do my best to have him take it slow, but if I try to stop him, he will just go out on his own, run away if he has to. Face it, the Bat is in his blood. I wish I could stop him, give him a chance at a normal childhood, but he won't have it. He enjoys being Robin too much."

Leslie shook her head. "I figured you would say that. Like I said, it may not matter. I pray he recovers, and I am always optimistic, but the numbers are not in his favor at this point. We will keep checking on him, but there is really nothing we can do until he wakes up."

Stephanie, forgotten by the other two in the corner of the room, was holding Damian's hand. The kid really wasn't that bad, he just didn't have any experience at being a kid. Hearing the update, Steph finally lost it. She attempted to remain forgotten, but couldn't keep her sobs to herself. She couldn't help herself, she was just an old softy. She couldn't stand it if Damian wasn't able to recover.

Leslie watched the Batgirl surreptitiously, then turned back to Dick. "Get some rest. Batgirl will watch out for you. I'll check back later." She got up and left quietly.

_Two Days Later_

Dick woke up and looked around, a bit confused as to his location. He soon remembered that he was still at Gotham Mercy Hospital. Tim and Jason were back, and Jason was smiling. In fact, he looked like he was trying to keep himself from busting out laughing as he looked at Dick. Tim was smirking, as well, and Dick really wanted to be let in on the joke.

He looked over at Damian. The boy was still unconscious, but he looked different. Dick had to look twice before he noticed that his youngest brother was no longer wearing his hospital gown. He had been dressed in a pair of hospital scrubs, obviously by his smirking brothers. _A pair of scrubs printed to look like a Batman suit_.

Tim explained, "We saw a nurse wearing a similar pair and asked where we could get some. He told us about a supply store next to the hospital, so we had to pick up a couple pairs."

_A couple pairs?_ Dick asked, "What do you mean, a couple…" Dick looked down at himself. _Just as I thought, they got me some, too._ "Really, guys? All the pranks in the world, and this is what you came up with?"

Dick was dressed in a set of Wonder Woman printed scrubs, complete with printed cleavage and printed skirt and legs on the pants.

Jason was holding his sides with laughter. "I wanted to go for the Robin print for you, but they didn't have your preferred Robin costume. You know, with the scaly shorts?"

Dick smirked, "Remember, it was your costume at one time, too."

Tim snorted with laughter, the banter reminding him of better times. He had seen pictures of both of the older men in the Robin suit as teens. He was eminently glad he had insisted on pants when he was Robin, much less material for ridicule that way.

Dick looked back at Damian. "Well, at least you were smart enough to get him something he won't complain about."

Jason looked back at the unconscious boy. "I wanted to get him Aquaman, but…"

Tim interrupted, "But I thought he had been through enough punishment as it is. We want him to heal, right? No sense in him trying to jump out of bed to kill us before he is fully able."

Dick nodded. "Right, it wouldn't be any fun if we could get away by just walking, or taking a large step to the side."

Dr. Thompkins came in the room, her heart warmed at the sight of the three brothers in such good spirits. Then, she saw Dick's scrubs.

She glared at Jason and Tim. "Oh, for Pete's sake! I thought you said you were getting something tasteful, something that would cheer him up."

Dick laughed, "They did. Little D got tasteful, and I sure am much more cheerful now. Hey, Leslie, when can I get out of here? I'm going stir crazy here, and I…We have a gang to put away."

She was back to business at the question. "You seem to be recovering nicely. I don't see any reason to keep you here much past tomorrow morning, but no Caped Crusading for at least the rest of the week, doctor's orders."

Dick nodded. "I think I can handle that. There is way too much research to do right now anyway. I think I can easily spend the rest of the week in the cave trying to find out who these guys are and what they are doing in Gotham. Besides, I need to spend some time here, too. Can't leave the little one alone." He hesitated, then asked, "What's his prognosis, doc?"

Leslie picked up his chart to see what updates were noted overnight. "Let's see…Blood count is good…No signs of infection…Cranial swelling has reduced to normal…Lung seems to be holding together…He is scheduled for another set of x-rays in about an hour to check how the bones are healing. I'd say, if he would just wake up, he would be close to out of the woods. Once he's awake, we can see what he really needs."

"I could use a glass of water."

The room fell silent as four heads whipped in the direction of the soft voice. His eyes were still closed, but Damian was moving his head in the direction of the rest of the room's occupants. He held out his left hand for the cup, then pulled it back with a wince as he stretched the still-healing muscles around his ribs.

"Damian, you're awake?" Dick sounded hopeful, and wanted to get out of bed to get to his brother. He couldn't, because he was still hooked up to his monitors, which were showing his accelerated heart rate.

He opened his eyes a crack, taking in the room around him blurrily. "Water, please? Unless this is a nightmare, then, yes, I'm awake."

Leslie poured a cup from the small pitcher at the bedside and held it to the child's lips, letting him take small sips. He nodded, whispered a 'thank you', and settled back for a minute before continuing, his eyes still closed. "I assume my condition is just as bad as I feel?"

Leslie was back in 'Dr. Thompkins' mode. "I don't know, Damian. Why don't you tell us how you feel?"

"I hurt. I can't move my right leg, and we need to do something about these cracked ribs. Where am I? How long have I been out?"

"You're at Gotham Mercy Hospital. You have been in and out of surgery, where we repaired your ribs and immobilized your leg, along with fixing other injuries. You have been unconscious for the past four days. For as bad as you were when you came in, you seem to be healing well."

He sighed, "Tt. Of course. I am able to heal at an accelerated rate, thanks to Mother's genetic engineering." Then, in a more subdued tone, "How bad was it?"

She shook her head, "Bad, but we can get to that later."

Dick spoke up, "Not even going to ask how your partner is, or how you got to the hospital?"

"I heard you talking and laughing a minute ago, when I first woke up, so I assumed you to be okay. As to how we got here, I assumed the signal from the emergency beacon was received, and the B team was able to assist."

Jason leaned over to Tim, "The B team? What do you have to say about your choice now?"

Tim whispered back, "Definitely should have gone with Aquaman."

Damian opened his eyes fully for the first time, raising his head to glare at his Boy Wonder predecessors. "What are you two cackling about over there?"

Dick answered, "They helped you get a promotion, Little D. They just didn't know which one to give you."

Tim muttered to Jason, "And a little gratitude wouldn't be out of line, right?" Jason nodded.

Damian didn't seem to hear the exchange, but was looking down, confused. _What does he mean, promotion?_ He glanced over at the feminine form covering Dick's scrubs, then down at his own. A yellow Bat Symbol stared back from his chest, "Oh, right. Well, it was bound to happen at some time."

Dick chuckled. _Just out of a coma, and he can still act imperious and entitled. Never change, Little D, I'm just glad to have you back._

An orderly came in to take Damian for his x-rays while Dick sat up, testing out his balance. Four days in bed left him a bit wobbly, but his strength would return soon. Leslie reminded him that he couldn't leave until tomorrow morning, and made Tim and Jason promise to keep him in the hospital until she let him go. They agreed, far more scared of her than of Dick.

Now that they were both awake, Dick sent Jason and Tim back to the cave to start working on tracking down the cell. The news report claimed that crime had risen in the past few days, and that Batman was mysteriously absent from Gotham. The Gotham Police were running themselves ragged, picking up the slack. They were even more in the dark as to the identity of the new crew in town. Only the warehouse bombing had left any sort of clue, but each new answer led to three more questions, each one more puzzling than the last.

_The Next Morning_

Dick was up and pacing around their small hospital room, only a slight limp showed any sign he had been injured. Tim had promised to pick him up at nine, and Batgirl promised to sit with Damian while he rested and recovered.

The x-rays from the day before were promising. The skull crack was gone. The ribs were healing nicely. The wrist and foot were going to take a few more weeks, but didn't look serious. The implanted knee joint was fusing nicely, and the doctors agreed that Damian would be up and walking with a cane inside of four months.

Of course, Damian planned to be back in his role as Robin far sooner than that.

Dick had told him about the knee replacement last night. Damian had taken it well, like a good little soldier. Dick could tell that Damian was hiding more under the surface. Damian had tried to roll over, away from Dick, but couldn't. He had closed his eyes. Dick wanted to tell him to just let it out, but he knew Damian would scoff and say there was nothing to let out. _Maybe it's because we are still in the hospital?_

Close to midnight, Dick had sat on the edge of Damian's bed and looked over his brother. He brushed the hair, longer than he had ever seen Baby Bat wear it, out of the sleeping boy's face as he caressed his cheek. "You'll be okay, Little D. I'll make them pay for this. When you are at my side again, we will make them suffer, the way you're suffering. I promise, it will be slow and painful, and it won't be over until you say it is."

At five minutes past nine, Tim arrived, in full Red Robin uniform. "Sorry, I'm late. You ready to go?"

"I guess so. I had hoped D would be up before I left, though. I told him I'm going home today, but I just wanted to make sure he would be okay until Steph arrives."

"I'm up, have been for hours." Damian didn't bother opening his eyes.

Dick smirked, "Sure you are. That's why you were snoring five minutes ago?"

"Tt, whatever. Did you tell Batgirl to bring me a book? This place is boring."

Dick replied, "Yes, I told her to bring you a book. I suggested _The Cat in the Hat_, but left the final decision up to her."

Tim smirked, "_The Cat in the Hat?_ I told her to bring _Fifty Shades of Grey_."

Dick slapped Tim's arm, "You didn't. What kind of brother are you?"

Tim smiled, "After reading it myself last month, I would say a pretty good one."

Dick shook his head, "He's _ten_, remember?"

Damian sighed, "Already read it. I don't see what the big fuss is all about."

Dick laughed, "You will, in a couple years."

"Whatever, you may go, Grayson." He pointed to the Bat symbol on his chest, still not looking at either man standing by the door. "Your Batman has spoken."

Tim laughed silently. Dick walked down to the nurse's station to sign himself out, and Tim turned to follow him, when a voice came from back in the room, "Drake!"

Tim walked back into the room. Damian was propping himself up on an elbow and looking at the older teen. "Shut the door, please."

Tim shut the door as Damian continued. "Grayson told me that it was you who executed our rescue. I also heard what you whispered to Todd yesterday, and I let it go because of what you did for me. I'm not accustomed to showing it or expressing it, but I do feel it. Thank you for coming. Thank you for not letting our past interfere with our duty. I am grateful that you are the person you are, Timothy Drake. And if you ever tell anyone I said any of this, I will throw you off the dinosaur again, and this time I'll make sure the dinosaur is next to one of the drop-offs in the cave."

Tim looked shocked, more at the gratitude than the death threat. He couldn't think of anything to say, but he nodded and smiled at his younger brother, and that was enough for both of them. Damian nodded back as Tim exited the room. He looked out the window a minute later and saw both men get into the Batmobile and drive off.

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, the new job is really wearing me out. I hope to have chapter five ready in a couple days, with the big reveal now looking like it will come in chapter six. Now that the story is fleshed out a little more, it is looking like I can complete it in ten to fifteen chapters, depending on how much I want to put into it. Time-wise, I think I can look at this being completed around the end of February or the beginning of March, depending on how training goes for the job I am starting in February. Of course, all timelines are subject to change.**

**Standard Disclaimer: Na na na na na na na na, Na na na na na na na na, Not Mine! This story is mine, but the characters are not. (And if you sing it out, 16 'Na's are the correct number for a 1966 theme song refrain).**

**I have heard a couple good guesses as to the identity of the mystery villain, but none are even close. Remember, I said historical Batman villain. The guesses I have had so far have not even been in the right half of the 20****th**** century. I'm talking old, people, but I guess I can give one more hint. This character will only tangentially resemble his original characterization. In fact, other than the name, he will have very little in common with his original self.**

**Okay, not much of a hint, but it should be enough to keep you coming back for more.**


	5. Chapter 5

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 5

_The following takes place one week after Dark Days, Black Nights chapter 4._

"RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON! You had better have a good excuse for not meeting me last night!"

Barbara Gordon wheeled herself out of the elevator and into the Bat Cave. Dick stood at the Bat-Computer, half turned towards the elevator, and frozen like a deer in the headlights. Tim, who had been standing next to Dick, was slowly edging himself out of the line of fire and trying to find a dark corner where he could watch without anyone commenting on his presence.

"Barb? What are you talking about? We didn't have a date last night."

The woman rolled right up to the standing man, front wheel of her wheelchair stopping on his right foot. "You called me on Monday and asked me to meet you for dinner last night. Said you were out of the hospital and wanted to see me…"

He looked down at the woman currently crushing his toes, "…And you turned me down. You told me you had plans with your dad. As much as I hate hearing your 'No's, I have come to accept them. Besides, you don't get to see your dad much, and since you are the only person in this cave who still has a dad, you should spend the time with him."

Barbara rolled off of Dick's foot, much to his relief. "Then why did you go and make other plans? Every time you ask me out, you already have reservations at that terrible Italian restaurant that you think impresses me because the waiter can speak twelve words of Italian. You didn't show up last night."

Dick blushed. He did have a habit of going to the same restaurants, he just didn't know it was that noticeable. "Did you go to the restaurant with your dad last night? How would you know I wasn't there?"

She looked away, but not before he noticed her blushing as well. "Never mind that…Oh, whatever. Dad had to cancel last night because he had to work. I figured I would surprise you, since that is where you were supposed to be. Just where were you, anyway?"

_We didn't have a date, why do I feel guilty?_ He chuckled, then thought better of it, considering she was sitting at the right height to give him an elbow to his groin. "Barb, you said no. I cancelled the reservation and did something much more useful with my evening than sit around a restaurant hoping you would show up, which, by the way, is something you have never done before. Tim was starting to crack up with all the extra work lately, so I kidnapped him and took my brother to dinner and a movie. Trying to get him to rest is next to impossible, so I had to ambush him."

"Hey! I'm not that bad, am I?" Tim walked back into the light to defend himself, feeling it was safe to be seen again, now that the argument was over. He had to admit, he had been known to overwork himself, and the distraction had helped greatly.

"Sorry you showed up for nothing, Barb. I guess that means you should start saying yes when I call for a date." Dick grinned slyly at the woman.

"Or, maybe you should just stop calling for dates." She returned the grin as she rolled closer to the computer. "Have you found anything yet?"

Tim sat back down at the keyboard and started calling up search results. "Maybe, but everything is circumstantial so far. We traced the bullets to an underground specialty arms manufacturer in South East Asia. The only problem is, the suspected arms maker was arrested by Interpol in 1978 and convicted of war crimes dating back to World War Two. He was reported to have died in prison in 1985. There have been rumors that the business was picked up by either a rival competitor, or an apprentice, but nothing has been substantiated. The bullets definitely were not created before 1978. The machine processes used to make this kind of ammunition didn't exist before 1998, so we can rule out old stock."

Barbara poked Dick, "He doesn't sound like he's cracking up. Your night out must have done some good, after all."

Tim rolled his eyes as Dick replied, none too quietly, "Hush, you know how sensitive little Timmy is. He's just getting to the good part."

"If I can continue?" Tim said without turning around. When we got no reply from the silently giggling pair behind him, he continued. "Thank you. The autopsies on the goons in the warehouse didn't turn up anything. Most were identified as local goons or thugs-for-hire who obviously found better employers. There are a couple who are still unidentified, including the bomber. However, we have been able to trace the explosive from the chemical markers. The vest consisted of ten pounds of C-4, pretty average for a device of this size. There were no signs of IED materials used; no nails, ball bearings, spikes, or anything like that. This device was meant to cover up evidence, not create more evidence. It's my theory that Batman and Robin got too close to something, and the device was triggered to make sure there was no one who could talk to give away any secrets."

Barbara rolled forward, "Wait a minute. Are you thinking that the bomber _intentionally_ took out his own men, in order to keep their group hidden?"

Dick laid a hand on her shoulder, "That's exactly what we think. I don't remember much of that night, but I do remember that the goons kept coming. Every time we got close to finishing the fight, more came in. Someone was watching, maybe more than one someone. When they saw that Little D and I weren't going down easily, they put a permanent end to it."

Barbara was stunned, "How can they just order someone to commit suicide?"

Tim answered, "If they are true believers in the cause, they probably didn't have to order anyone to do anything. Fundamentalists do it all the time, for the glory of advancing the cause."

She looked over at the teen, "Is that what you're thinking? A fundamentalist cell is setting up in Gotham?"

Tim shook his head, "A fundamentalist cell, using military-grade explosives, stolen from a U.S. Army post two years ago? No, it doesn't fit the evidence. There would have been some sort of announcement. Someone would have come forward on the internet bragging that they had taken the Batman off the streets in the name of…whatever their cause is. Besides, a fundamentalist cell wouldn't want such a close connection to the government as to use stolen Army supplies."

"Are you sure it's American C-4?" she asked.

Tim nodded, "One hundred percent. The chemical markers match a batch of C-4 that was stolen from a military convoy two years ago. However, the report states that the convoy was never robbed. Best guess anyone could come up with was that it was a clerical error, and the stock was never loaded on the trucks. The report was later amended to state the explosives 'went missing'. No mention of where they could have gone. A year later, there were three discharges issued to the soldiers in charge of the convoy. The military found evidence that they had stolen and sold the C-4, but the evidence never found its way into the official record, there was never any unusual activity in any of the soldiers banking accounts, and their records were sealed and 'misfiled' after separation. I still haven't been able to get copies of the soldier's service files, or even the soldier's names, just that they once existed and may have been complicit with the theft of close to 100 pounds of high explosive."

Barbara shook her head slowly. "That is a lot of conjecture. How can we be sure that any of this has to do with the bombing in Gotham, or with a shadowy organization that may or may not exist?"

Tim smiled grimly, "Because the C-4 was here. The only concrete proof of anything so far is the chemical markers found in the traces of left-over explosive. It proves that the theft took place, which means that the three soldiers are, or were, real. Which means that, whoever is running this has recruited from the military, and has been active for at least two years."

"Or, that the explosives were stolen, and could have been sold to anyone or every one over the past two years." Dick ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated at the lack of any concrete proof.

Tim leaned back from the computer, just as frustrated, "Yeah, I was hoping you wouldn't see that, admittedly, glaring hole in the facts. Whoever these guys are, they're good at hiding."

Dick grabbed Tim's shoulders in a sign of support, "Not for long, Baby Bird, not for long."

The alarm on Dick's watch started to beep. He silenced the alarm and looked at the time. "Sorry to cut this short, but I told Baby Bat that I would visit him at the hospital today. Tim, I like where this is going. Keep at it, sooner or later we'll make the right connection. Barb, thanks for coming by. You should turn me down more often." She grinned as Dick headed for the locker room.

Damian was still in Gotham Mercy Hospital, listed as Robin on the hospital registry. That meant, as annoying as it had become, any Bat visitors had to come in uniform to keep the Boy Wonder's identity intact. Dick was suited up and heading out in the Batmobile in ten minutes, wishing the whole way he could just take the Porsche, the one car of Bruce's that had always been his favorite. The car had seen far more use since Bruce's death than it ever had during his life, and that always made Dick feel a little guilty. He missed Bruce like crazy, but he loved that car.

Arriving at the hospital, he greeted Dr. Thompkins as she exited Damian's room.

"Ah, good morning Di…Batman. You should be happy to know that Robin is doing quite well. His recovery is ahead of schedule. Physical therapy began on his right knee yesterday, and while he is still having pain, he can control moving the knee now, which is excellent progress."

Dick smiled despite the cowl. "Can he stand yet?"

She shook her head, "Not yet, but that is more a symptom of the broken foot than the repaired knee. It's just going to take time."

Batman nodded, "How about the ribs? And his lung, is his lung capacity better?"

Leslie checked the notes in the chart. "Ribs have healed completely, which is incredible. I guess there really is something to his genetically modified healing after all. Lung capacity is still less than we would like, but it is steadily increasing."

"Has he had any other visitors? I'm sorry I haven't been able to come for a couple days."

"You should tell that to him, he seemed pretty disappointed when you didn't show up yesterday."

Dick grimaced, "He actually showed disappointment? Wow, I messed up there."

"Only visitors have been Red Hood, Batgirl, and yourself. Reports say that Red Hood tends to show up at night and leave before Robin wakes up. Maybe we did something right with him, after all?"

Dick said quietly, more to himself, "Jay, you never cease to surprise me."

Leslie smiled warmly as Dick walked away and entered Damian's room, closing the door behind him. It had become a routine at the hospital; when the door was closed, only a code blue would justify entering without knocking and being invited to enter.

Dick stopped at the door and watched the scene before him. Damian was asleep in his bed, snoring softly. The television was on, showing a rerun of The Rifleman. Dick smiled, remembering how often Bruce and he had sat on the couch on Saturday mornings to watch the show. Bruce had called it one of his favorites, and Dick could rarely remember him watching anything else, other than the news. Dick sat in the chair next to the bed, watching the television and absently running his fingers through Damian's hair.

At the next commercial break, Damian woke up and looked around the room groggily. He mumbled, "What's going on?" his voice soft and more accented than usual. Dick smiled, but didn't say anything about the accent, having been punched once for pointing it out in the past.

Damian's eyes focused on Dick, and it seemed to take a second for him to see the man inside the uniform. He turned back to the t.v. before speaking.

"Hello, Grayson. I guess I should be happy you decided to grace me with your presence today." His voice, while not quite bitter, definitely held a sharp tone.

Dick was on the defensive, not a usual position for someone dressed as Batman. "Good morning. If you wanted me to visit yesterday, then why didn't you say so? Every other time, it seemed like you couldn't get rid of me fast enough. Besides, weren't Jay and Steph here yesterday?"

"No." Damian looked away, wishing he hadn't said anything. _He always has a way of getting me to say more than I want to._

"I'm sorry, D. I didn't realize… Steph said she was coming to give you another book." _I will have to talk to her about that,_ he thought.

"Well, she didn't, and I have been forced to watch this idiot box since I finished my book two days ago." _Can't we get off this subject, now?_

"I see. You picked a good show to watch, though."

_Thank you_. Damian looked back at the screen as the black and white western came back from commercial. "You have seen this one before?" Dick nodded. "I'm not sure I understand the premise of this program. Can you explain something to me?"

Dick was surprised. Damian never asked for help, not even when confined to a hospital bed. "I can give it a try. What's so confusing?"

"Okay. This man is living with his son, and so far every episode has presented some moral dilemma as a situation for the man to teach his son the right and wrong way to live, right?"

Dick nodded. "That's the show, in a nutshell. Lucas McCain is trying to teach his son, Mark, that being compassionate and helpful towards your fellow man is the better way to live. It's set in a time where that was not always possible, in order to show the effects your decisions can have on your life. It seems to me like you have the basic concept down. What is your question?"

Damian nodded at the screen, currently showing the Marshal assembling a posse to chase down an escaped criminal. "My question is: Why do most of his solutions consist of shooting someone, if he's trying to teach his son that violence is not the right answer?"

Dick laughed aloud. He had asked Bruce the same question when he was younger than Damian. Bruce hadn't been able to come up with a good answer, either.

Damian continued. "And, he claims to be just a rancher, but the way he walks around North Fork, you would get the idea that he is really the Sheriff. It seems like people tend to fear and respect him, and follow whatever he says, just because he's tall and an imposing figure, and he carries the biggest weapon in town."

Dick couldn't stop laughing. He had almost the exact conversation with Bruce as a child. _I guess I get to pass down the wisdom that was passed to me now._ "Damian, can you think of anyone else that can use height and an imposing figure to spread fear and earn respect around town?" Dick tapped his head, still wearing the pointed cowl. Damian nodded, getting the picture a little too suddenly.

"As for the other questions, I don't know how many episodes you have seen so far. Have you studied the American West much?" Damian shook his head, surprising Dick. _Then again, not much military strategy came out of the American West._ "It was a time of great lawlessness. You could literally get away with murder if you could find the slightest justification that proved you right. Yes, Lucas McCain killed a lot of people, but it was never a first resort of action. He was deputized many times to help uphold the law. You might say, he was the first Batman, just with more rifles and horses and killing."

Damian thought for a while. The two settled back to watch the episode, now nearing its end. Damian unconsciously inched closer to Dick, still sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed.

At the end of the episode, as the credits rolled, Damian asked another question. "Why did they make the son such a wimp? He starts crying and having a panic attack every time someone grabs his arm, and starts losing his mind when he's left alone for more than twenty minutes at a time."

Dick thought about it. "You know, I had the same problem with the show. The kid was only there to appeal to a younger audience, but he had to rely on his father to take care of him. The world can be a tough place for a kid all alone. As Dean Martin said, 'Everybody needs somebody, sometime.'"

Damian cocked his head, "Dean Who?"

"Oh, Damian. I have so much to teach you." Dick patted his charge's knee, just above the cast.

They were silent for a while, Damian wondering if this Dean person was someone he had met, and why he didn't remember. He was usually very good with names and faces.

After a while, Damian asked, "Where did you watch so much of this show, to get the understanding down?"

Dick got up and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his cape around the boy and pulling him in close to his side. "Little D, The Rifleman was one of your father's favorite shows. It may be the only thing I ever saw him watch, other than the news. We would sit around on Saturday mornings and watch marathons, taking in the adventures of Lucas McCain and Mark. It was one of the few times he allowed himself to relax, and we got to act like a family, at least for a couple hours."

Damian looked away from the larger man and whispered, "I really didn't know him at all, did I?"

Dick wanted to cry, "You weren't given a chance. He was taken so suddenly from us. Alfred and I can help you with that, if you want."

"Pennyworth? I suppose he's happy to have one less person in the manor to clean up after?"

Dick laughed, glad for the ice breaker. "Actually, he always said you were the neatest of all of us. With Tim and Jay spending so much time at the manor now, Alfie has had to work overtime to keep up."

"I suppose they'll leave once I'm released?"

_Was that a tone of regret in his voice?_ "Not until we put this gang, or organization, or syndicate, whatever they are, out of business. We're getting closer. We may have a lead on the bullets and the explosives, but it is too soon to say anything definitively."

Damian smirked, "You've had a week to track them down. What have you been doing while I'm cooped up here?"

Dick smirked back, "Following doctor's orders. She said no night activities for a while. So, we have been relaxing a bit, taking it slow, having fancy dinners, going to the movies. You know, that sort of thing."

Damian huffed, "I can see you need your new Batman back as soon as possible." Damian stuck out his chest, still wearing the scrubs Tim and Jason had bought.

Dick looked down at the garment. "I hope you let the hospital staff wash those every once in a while."

Damian looked down at the Bat symbol on his chest. "Tt. Of course. One of the nurses also went and bought a couple more pairs. She said she liked how they looked on me. Another vote of confidence that I should be Batman."

Dick laughed as there was a knock on the door. He got up and opened the door, scaring the orderly on the other side with a Bat Glare.

"Sorry to interrupt, but it's time for his PT. Geez, no wonder you can get the criminals, with a look like that." Dick patted the man on the shoulder and allowed him in to the room.

As the orderly rolled the bed out of the room, Dick patted Damian's shoulder and said, "I'll come back tonight. And, I'll make sure Batgirl brings that book."

Damian nodded as Batman left.

_Meanwhile, back at the Batcave_

Dick pulled the Batmobile onto the turntable, talking to Batgirl on the communicator.

"Yes, but Steph, you promised him you would show up. He is feeling really left out right now, and he needs people to talk to…No, he finished the book already. You promised him you would bring him another one…Okay…When you go, maybe you could sit with him for a few minutes? I don't know, talk to him about the book or something. Just keep it upbeat, he'll heal faster that way…I suppose he could talk to the doctors and nurses, but don't you think he would feel better talking to someone who actually knows him as something other than Robin?...Thank you. Talk to you later."

Dick ripped off the cowl as he approached the computer. Jason had arrived while Dick was gone, and Tim and Barbara were updating him on what they had found so far. Dick pulled Jason aside for a quick word.

"Jay, do you think you could visit while he's awake? At least once? What good does it do to visit someone when they don't know you've been there?"

_How did he find out I was visiting Damian at night?_ "Sorry, Big Bird. He's much easier to visit when we aren't arguing all the time."

"Little Wing, I bet, if you gave it a try, it wouldn't be so bad."

"Dick, Jay! I think I found something!" Tim called from the computer. The two older men walked over to check it out.

"I did some more digging into the bullets. It turns out, I was wrong. The arms maker kept coming up when I researched the bullets because he is credited with inventing the process of making the armor piercing rounds. He tried to file a patent in Malaysia for the ammunition in 1976, but was refused because he was a fugitive from The Hague. It was that patent filing that actually led to his eventual arrest. His name was Hao Oshimaida. He was basically the Dr. Mengele of the Japanese POW camps in World War Two. Now, there were rumors during the war that the Japanese were using bullets that could shoot through our tanks, but they were never confirmed. Armor piercing rounds existed in World War Two, but they were never reported in the Pacific Theater, and never in small arms calibers. That didn't come around until the mid-1980's, and the type of rounds used on Dick weren't common until the late 1990's."

Tim took a breath before continuing. "Now, here is where it gets interesting. Hao Oshimaida died in prison in 1985; that has been confirmed. In 1987, a small import/export firm was established in Japan. They are really just a small shipping company, but by 1990, they are doing millions of dollars in business annually, and they get a reputation for being able to transport anything, anywhere in the world, with a one hundred percent on-time rate, and they are never stopped by customs. The name of this company is Oshimaida Industries."

Dick stood up straight and gripped Barbara's shoulder. _Oshimaida Industries? I know that name from somewhere, but where?_

Barbara grabbed his hand, he was hurting her. "Dick? Something you want to share with the class?"

The eyes of the other two turned to Dick. "No, not yet, at least. I know that name from somewhere, I just can't place it."

Jason slapped his back, "Think, Dick. It may be important. Keep going, Baby Bird, maybe you'll jar his memory."

Tim nodded. "I may have the answer for you already, Dick. I ran a search for Oshimaida Industries and any connection they may have with Gotham, and I got a hit. The very first case where the Batman made the local papers involved Bruce breaking up an illegal arms shipment at the Gotham docks. Those arms were meant for distribution to local thugs to start a gang war, at least, that was the assumption Bruce was operating under. The guns came from the Russian Mafia, but the ship belonged to Oshimaida Industries. That shipment was the first in the history of Oshimaida Industries to mar their perfect delivery record, and it almost put them out of business. Gotham was, and still is, a breeding ground for the criminal element. Gangs from around the world come here to test themselves and open branch factions at the same speed that Starbucks opens new coffeehouses. That bust put Oshimaida Industries on Batman's radar, and, apparently, Batman on Oshimaida's radar."

Dick shook his head, "So, you're saying, Oshimaida Industries is targeting us? What for? This can't all be for stopping some criminal arms shipment back in the day?"

Tim looked up at Dick, "No, I don't think so, either. In fact, I don't think we are the target at all. I think Gotham itself is the target. Think about it, a large city, conveniently located along traffic routes, we have our own ports, airports, overland shipping routes, a large criminal presence already exists here, the locals are used to crime in their neighborhoods, the police are basically ineffective at tackling the major organized crime. I think they are looking at relocating their headquarters and expanding operations."

Jason scoffed, "Oh, come on. Any look at the Gotham Gazette would tell the whole story of Batman. The police handle the small crime, while Batman looks into the big crimes and the big criminals. Can they possibly think they can set up a new criminal enterprise right under our noses?"

Dick began to put the Batman into his voice. "Well, they are here, so the obvious answer is yes. Tim, look into the warehouse, see if we can get a copy of the rental agreement. There has to be a name on there somewhere. Do we know who is behind Oshimaida Industries?"

Tim shook his head, "Not yet. They are a privately owned company. I have feelers out, but nothing has come back so far. We'll keep looking. They won't get away from us, Dick."

Dick nodded, checking his watch and heading for the locker room to change out of his Batman uniform. "Keep at it, but after lunch. You guys are doing good work. They can't run from us for long."

**A/N: Almost there, everyone. The true reveal will come next chapter, as promised. I wanted to have the conversation about The Rifleman as a stand-alone one-shot, but I couldn't get it to work out as a full-fledged story. I may come back to it at a later time, I'm not too sure yet. I love that show.**

**Since it is coming in the next chapter, I will give the final hint as to his identity. The villain is a doctor, inventor, and a calculating manipulator. Could be anyone, right? Plenty of villains match that description in the Batman universe, but you most likely have never heard of this one.**

**Standard Disclaimer: I don't own The Batman or The Rifleman characters or properties. Hao Oshimaida and Oshimaida Industries are figments of my imagination. Any correlation or resemblance to any person or organization, living or dead, is purely coincidental. And before you ask, looking up Hao Oshimaida or Oshimaida Industries will not get you any closer to the identity of my mystery villain. I heard the name Oshimaida in an episode of NCIS and thought it would be a good name to throw into the story.**


	6. Chapter 6

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 6

_The following takes place on Saturday night, three days after Chapter 5._

"Good evening, Todd. You're a bit early tonight."

Jason jumped out of the chair in which he had been napping. _I thought the little Demon Brat was asleep._ As he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, he glanced at his younger brother. Damian had adjusted his bed so he was sitting up. He also looked like he was uncomfortable.

_Well, might as well get this over with._ "I didn't mean to wake you. Uh, Dick wanted me to make sure you were okay."

Damian smirked, then yawned, "No, he didn't. The nurse told me yesterday that you have been coming at night, always waiting until you were sure I was asleep. Besides, if he had sent you, you would have called him 'Dickiebird' or 'Bat-Two' or something like that. You also wouldn't hang around all night if you were just 'checking in'."

Jason was too tired to banter. "What do you want me to say, Demon Brat? Am I not allowed to be concerned, too?"

Damian looked almost ashamed. "Sorry. I can't say I would do the same thing if it was you in the bed, instead of me. I guess you're just a better person than I am."

_Did he just apologize to me? There must be something very wrong. _"Damian, I…" Jason's voice trailed off. Dick and Stephanie had said Damian was different since his wounding. Now, sitting here, watching the boy as he looked away and tried to compose himself, he was starting to believe it. "Are you…Are you okay? You look uncomfortable." _Maybe I should have phrased that differently._

Damian looked back, dark circles under his eyes. "Its…Yes, I'm uncomfortable. This cast itches like crazy." Damian was clawing at the plaster on his left leg, yet winced and sharply inhaled in pain every time he stretched his arm farther than mid-calf.

"I thought the doctor said your ribs were better?"

Damian winced again, "They are, but they still aren't back to normal yet. Doesn't help that I slipped in physical therapy today and landed on that side."

Jason was shocked. "Wait a minute, you're standing now?"

Damian shook his head, "No, they wanted me to try putting some weight on my new knee, to get used to the feeling. I pushed a bit too hard and slipped out of the chair. Didn't break anything, but it sure didn't feel good. At least I am allowed to get out of this bed, even if it is only for an hour of therapy."

He tried to pull his leg closer to his hand, "Why did they have to put the cast so high on my leg? I broke my foot, not my ankle."

Jason smiled as he took a pencil from the table next to the bed and handed it to the child. Damian gave him a 'what the hell am I supposed to do with this' look. Jason took the pencil back and slid the eraser end under the upper end of the plaster cast, gently rubbing it against the boy's leg. Damian quickly got the idea, took the pencil back from Jason, and vigorously began rubbing another part of his leg, a slow smile spreading across his face as the itch was relieved.

"Thank you, Todd. How did you come up with that?"

Jason smirked at the boy, "You're not the only one who has had more broken bones than they can remember."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Damian asked, "Why do you keep coming every night?"

Jason thought for a while, not too sure exactly why he did keep coming. "I guess…It's the way we found you. You were trying to protect Big Bird. I guess someone should be around to protect you."

"I am in no need of protection, Hood."

Jason nodded, then stood up and headed for the door, saying, "Well, if that's the way you feel, I can always sleep in my own bed."

His hand was on the doorknob when Damian blurted out, "_Wait!_" Jason smiled with his back to the young Robin. Damian continued, sounding hopeful, but trying to hide it. "You…you could stay…just for a bit…you know, if you want to. I don't think I can get back to sleep any time soon, and this place is pretty boring."

Jason turned around and leaned against the door. "Damian Wayne, are you saying you're lonely? Are you saying you actually want me, Jason Todd, near you? Are you saying that you prefer my company to that of, say…"

"Stop," Damian interrupted, "I'm just saying…please don't make me say it."

Jason smiled ear to ear as he leaned forward, "Say it."

"You're the only one who visits with any regularity, and…"

"Say it."

"OKAY! I'm lonely, and I would appreciate your company, for a while."

Jason strode forward, placing his hands on Damian's shoulders. "That's my boy. Was that so hard?"

Damian looked away, "I'm not going to live this down, am I?"

Jason took his seat again, this time moving it next to the bed. "Nope, not anytime soon, at least."

"I should have just let you leave."

"Damian."

"Yes?"

"Shut up, and get some rest."

"Who do you think you are, my brother?" Damian asked with a sly grin.

"Yes, I do. Say, when are they going to spring you from this joint?"

Damian sighed, then yawned again, the late hour starting to catch up with him. "Maybe Monday, if therapy goes well."

"Well, in celebration of your release, I'm going to modify your Robin costume a bit. I'm going to add two holes in the cape, to fit around the handles of your wheelchair. Then it can flutter in the breeze as Batman pushes you from crime scene to crime scene. Hey, you think we can use this to get a handicapped placard for the Batmobile?"

"Jason."

"Yes?"

"Shut up. I think I'll try to go back to sleep after all."

Jason turned off the light by the bed, and in just a few minutes, Damian was snoring softly, peacefully back to sleep. He smiled at the boy and reclined the bed about halfway before patting his youngest brother's shoulder gently. _Sleep well, Little D, you deserve it._

_Sunday afternoon, the Batcave_

After taking the morning off, Tim and Barbara were back at the computer, inputting data and checking leads. Analyzing the bullets and tracing their origin had turned out to be the Rosetta stone for tracking the whereabouts and activities of Oshimaida Industries. They had led to a stolen arms shipment a year ago. The Metropolis police had intercepted the illegal ammunition and contracted with Oshimaida's overland transportation service to move the shipment to the military stockpile, fifty miles to the north. The convoy never made it to its destination. The official report claimed three men in armored SUV's had hijacked the load and disappeared. None of the drivers were injured and the trucks were in perfect condition after the hijacking. The rumor was inside job, but there was no evidence of any Oshimaida link to the hijackers. Oshimaida executives, testifying before a military panel to explain the lost shipment, stuck to reciting company policy. They claimed it was their policy for drivers to sacrifice a shipment in order to save lives and equipment if hijacked. The military bought it, and did not bring any charges against Oshimaida Industries. The military felt that losing any further business contracts with the military was punishment enough.

Tim had a source, a friend in the Army, who was working on getting the files of the three men who were discharged over the stolen explosives. He already had an official company employee roster for Oshimaida Industries American operations. The Bats hoped to match the names of the soldiers to Oshimaida employment records. Then they would finally have their link between the warehouse, the explosives, and the company.

Barbara was still working on getting the rental agreement for the warehouse. She had sent an anonymous tip to her father that the bombing was more than a gangland feud gone worse. Secretly, she had sent Batgirl to inform Commissioner Gordon in person of the Bat's involvement in the case, and that Batman and Robin had been injured in the blast. She made it clear that he was not to reveal that information to the investigative committee. The Commissioner had been startled, mostly because Batgirl showed up in his bedroom just after he got out of the shower, but also because it explained the disappearance of Batman and Robin. Of course, he vowed to keep the information to himself, so long as Batgirl knocked next time, and let him put on more than his bathrobe. Barbara hated that she couldn't be the one to tell her father, but he had come too close to identifying her as Oracle several times in the past.

Dick was ready to get back to being Batman, but he had reservations about patrolling without Robin. Sure, he had gone out on patrol many times alone, but this time felt different. Gotham City needed Batman. Even if he didn't stop one crime, just seeing his figure standing atop a building or his silhouette sailing through the Gotham night would inspire the citizens, possibly prevent a crime due to intimidation, and show that the Batman hadn't forsaken Gotham in its hour of need.

However, Dick was finding reasons to postpone his return to the streets. He was still sore, and occasionally felt weak. Damian may need him. He was still in the hospital and, while he was recovering quicker than he had any right to, there was always the possibility that he could take a turn for the worse. Tim and Barbara could make the key discovery at any moment, and he felt he should be around when it happened to start planning their next steps at a moment's notice.

His biggest reason was one he wouldn't share with anyone; he was scared. Being that close to death had shaken the man. Knowing that he put his youngest brother in the same situation had rattled his confidence. He didn't want to be the one responsible for getting someone he loved killed. He didn't want to be the one who had to tell Alfred to set one less place at the table for dinner. He was tempted to hand this one over to the police and take a long vacation. Lord knows he has earned it.

As much as he wants to walk away, Dick knows he can't. These people hurt his family. These people hurt him. These people didn't deserve to run around Gotham like they owned the place; that was his job.

"Master Dick, is anything the matter?"

Dick was startled out of his thoughts. He hadn't heard the old man approach as he stared into the cowl in his hands. _If anyone here will understand…_ "I didn't hear you come in, Alfred. Yeah, something's the matter. D is still in the hospital, and I can't find the people who put him there. Everywhere I look, I only see one responsible party; Batman." Dick threw the cowl down at his feet.

The butler laid a comforting hand on the man's cheek, making him feel eight years old again. "Come now, Master Dick. You can't blame yourself for the actions of others. You could no more stop what happened from taking place than you could have stopped Master Damian from accompanying you that night. Things happen for a reason. Perhaps your injuries occurred to inform you of a greater threat."

Dick huffed, "A greater threat, all right. A threat that has been growing under our nose for years without us being any wiser to it. How could we not see this coming?"

Alfred smiled sadly, "Tell me, young Master: What is the Joker up to right now? What is the Penguin planning for his next caper? Is Two-Face preparing to strike? How many other crimes were being committed in the city while you and Master Damian were in the warehouse? You can't answer these questions, Master Richard. So, tell me, why do you believe you should have been able to predict this?"

"Because I'm Batman. Because this is my city, and I should know what the criminal element is planning next. Because I need to be there when people are planning on blowing up my family."

Alfred pulled the seated superhero into a hug. "You were there, you did all you could, and it still happened. I seem to recall having this conversation once before."

Dick pulled back, looking confused. "I don't remember having this conversation before."

The older man smiled. "No, my boy. I was speaking of Master Bruce. We had this conversation twice, actually. Once just after you left, and once just after poor Master Jason, well... Master Bruce was convinced he was not able to continue as the Batman. I had hoped he was right, but Gotham called to him, as it is calling to you now. You are scared, as he was then, but you will get over it. That fear will help you, because, as you said, this is your city, and you want what's best for it."

Dick looked up at the man, a smile on his face. "Thanks, Alfie. You didn't happen to know Knute Rockne, did you? One of you obviously taught the other how to make the inspirational speech."

Alfred smiled as he walked towards the door. "Sometimes, the old ways are the best, Master Dick."

Dick sat there long after Alfred left, thinking about what he said. Then, it hit him. "The old ways…I wonder."

Dick ran back to the computer, where Tim and Barbara were anxiously waiting for their latest search results. "Tim, have you looked into the old patent filing from Hao Oshimaida at all?"

Tim looked confused, "No. Why?"

Dick shook his head. "I don't know. Something Alfred said got me thinking. I think there may be something there. Can you pull up the record of the patent filing, please?"

Tim turned to the computer and opened a new search window. "That is an old record from a third-world, South East Asian country. It may take a while to come up. That's even assuming it has been digitized at all. The patent was rejected, there is really no reason for them to keep a record of it."

Dick stared at the screen. "I know it's a long shot, but I have a feeling there is something there. Please pull it up. Barbara, can you think of anywhere we could find it if he can't get it from Malaysia?"

Barbara thought for a minute, while Tim looked back at Dick, mumbling sarcastically 'Thanks for the vote of confidence.' Then the lightbulb went on over her head. "I got it. Tim, cancel your search in Malaysia. Start over, this time in the Netherlands."

Dick looked confused, but Tim got it right away. "Holy International Manhunt, Barbara. The Hague, of course." Dick still looked like he didn't get it. Tim explained, "The patent filing was used as evidence in Oshimaida's trial for war crimes. It was the evidence leading to his capture, therefore it had to be presented in court. That means it has to be in the official record of the trial. Dick, I'll have that patent for you in just a few minutes."

Dick stared at Tim and laughed. "_Holy International Manhunt?_ Who talks like that? I swear, you say the weirdest things sometimes, Timmy."

As he typed his search request into the computer, Tim commented, "I just explained how to get the exact information you requested, and all you can notice is how I turn a phrase? Where is your head lately, Dick?" Tim hoped Dick didn't answer, because as soon as he said it, he knew where Dick's head was. It was the same place all their minds had gone recently, to the hospital room with their injured brother.

"I don't know," Barbara chimed in, "He seems like his usual self to me, more or less."

"Thanks," Dick deadpanned, "It's comforting to know I haven't changed." _If only they knew how much change I have seen in myself over the past couple weeks._

Tim's few minutes quickly turned into ten, then twenty, then thirty. Dick was pacing behind the teen, preparing to ask for the fifth time how much longer it would take to access the record, when the computer beeped. All eyes turned to the screen as Tim opened a file containing search results. It wasn't the patent filing, but the service records of the three soldiers that Tim's contact had found and sent. Tim printed out summary files and handed one to each of his companions in the cave.

Tim read first. "Okay, I have Lance Corporal James Kirkland, age 27. Joined the Army at age 20, basic at Fort Dix, assigned to a supply company. One tour overseas. Two non-punitive letters of reprimand in his file, one disorderly conduct charge while on leave resulted in a demotion from sergeant three years ago. Served a couple short jail stints while in the Army, overnighters. One for drunk and disorderly and one for fighting with an officer outside of a bar. Received an Other than Honorable discharge for the incident with the missing explosives two years ago. Army stopped tracking him after discharge. Who's next?"

Barbara spoke up next. "I have Sergeant William Dearfield, age 28. Joined the Army at age 19, basic at Fort Dix, assigned to a supply company. Two tours overseas. Requested a hazardous duty assignment on his second tour. Was injured when his convoy was assaulted, resulting in a Purple Heart and a commendation for valor when he saved his driver during a firefight. Fairly spotless record until his Other than Honorable discharge for the explosives incident two years ago."

Dick read his record. "Here is Sergeant Takato Morita, age 27. Born in Japan, moved to the United States at age two. Naturalized at age 7, became a sworn citizen at age 10. Has never been back to Japan and has no known family there. Joined the Army at age 19, basic at Fort Dix. Assigned to a supply company, big surprise. One tour overseas. Was investigated, but never charged, for participating in an illegal gambling ring on base. Two letters of reprimand in his file, one for errors in paperwork that sent a weapons shipment to the wrong base. He was accused of giving aid and comfort to the enemy when he was caught giving supplies to a local medical clinic. Clinic turned out to be a front for terrorist activities. Awarded a Purple Heart for shrapnel injuries received while resupplying a forward post that came under fire. Other than Honorable discharge two years ago."

All three thought about the records. Tim began talking, thinking out loud. "All are about the same age. All were trained at the same post at about the same time. It's not in this record, but they could have met at basic training. All on the same progression schedule, except for Kirkland, with the demotion. Morita is the only one with any past marks on file that may suggest he could pull off making one hundred pounds of high explosive just disappear. However, Kirkland is the more likely, antisocial type, at least with his service record."

The computer beeped again. The patent filing came through. Tim printed out a copy and handed it to Dick, who began reading it. It was longer than Dick thought it would be, and as he was reading it over, he could feel Tim and Barb's eyes boring into his head, waiting for his hunch to pay off. He looked up at the two, "This may take me a while; I don't even know what I'm looking for yet. Barb, why don't you compare the service records to the Oshimaida Industries employee roster. Tim, now that we have names, see if you can track recent whereabouts of the three men; anything you can find after they left the Army. Let's see if we can start putting the pieces together a bit faster. I still have to get to the hospital to check on Damian before visiting hours are over." Dick knew Damian had his guardian angel after visiting hours, but wasn't sure Little D would like knowing about his nightly visitor. It would just encourage the child to get less rest in order to tell Jason off for wasting his time visiting, when he could be out hunting this gang.

Dick got five pages into the forty page document and could feel his eyes crossing. He understood less than half of the material in the patent request. The research and processes presented were truly ahead of their time when Oshimaida wrote them. Heck, they were impressive now. _This would have made him a very rich man, if he hadn't been a wanted fugitive_. He pushed himself away from the table and stood up with a sigh, "You know what? I'm just going to go to the hospital now. I didn't see him yesterday, I want to spend some extra time there. Maybe they will be ready to release him?"

Tim chuckled as Dick trotted off to the Batmobile, putting on his cowl and leaving as quickly as possible. "He never was one for the heavy research. I wonder what Alfred said that made him want to see the patent?"

Barbara shook her head, "No idea, but maybe he is right. I think a break is in order. I'm sure Alfred could be persuaded into making some cookies, and I am craving some hot chocolate right now."

Tim smiled at her, thinking that would be the perfect diversion. "Okay, you talked me into it, let's go." The two made their way up to the manor, allowing their brains to recharge before returning to their research.

They sat around the kitchen table talking, while Alfred put a batch of Snickerdoodles in the oven. Alfred sat down at the table with the two while waiting for the cookies to bake. There was a gnawing question on his mind, and now was the time to ask it.

"Master Timothy, I must ask you something. Out of the three people at this table, you are the only one who is allowed to visit Master Damian in the hospital, yet you haven't been there since Master Dick was released. Master Dick said you talked to Master Damian alone that day. Did something happen between the two of you? Why have you not wanted to see your brother?"

Tim had hoped his absence from the hospital hadn't been noticed. He couldn't face it. Tim hated hospitals, ever since he had watched his mother die in one. To see his brothers in one had been almost too much for him. Besides, Damian and Tim had had a moment, and Tim didn't want to wreck that. Damian had always been volatile, and Tim was not looking forward to the inevitable, when Damian would return to hating him.

Tim stared at the table while having these thoughts, while two pairs of eyes bored into the top of his head. He was silent so long, thinking, that Barbara and Alfred began to think he wasn't going to answer. Alfred was secretly disappointed in Tim. This could have been a great bonding experience for the boys, and Tim was letting it slip by.

Barbara was a little less secretive in her disappointment. After a couple more minutes, as Alfred was taking the cookies out of the oven, she said, "Well? Alfred asked you a question."

Startled, Tim looked up guiltily. _How do I explain this to them, while still keeping my unspoken promise to Damian?_ He began slowly, "I don't like hospitals; I never have. I watched my mom die in a hospital, because the doctor said there was nothing more he could do. I sat there and watched for twenty four hours while a doctor sliced open…my brother, taking him apart before putting him back together again. I sat there, hoping the doctor could make everything work again, only to find out that they were holding almost no hope of him actually surviving the surgery. Yes, we talked, but out of respect for Damian, I am keeping what was said between us. I would ask that you not ask him about it as well, since it was his wish for the conversation to stay between us. Despite what you may be thinking, I do care for him. We didn't get off to the best start, but there is always hope. Besides, what am I supposed to say to him? 'Hey, glad you're not a vegetable? Want to guess what color your lung is? Do you know how many stitches you had, because I watched them put in each and every one?' I'll talk to him, I'll keep trying, but not there. I can't go there. You should know, the only reason I went back at all before is because Jason dragged me there. I didn't go willingly, I won't go willingly. I will be the first to volunteer to pick him up when he is released, because that means he won, he beat the hospital, and that is something I can support. I can support him, but I can't get behind going to see him, only to leave him there, in the hands of those who have limits to their abilities and responsibilities, that get people killed."

Tim hadn't meant to pour out his soul like that, but they had a right to know. Secretly, Tim was upset with himself for not getting over his phobia for the sake of his brother. Alfred and Barbara sat at the table, watching the teen, waiting to see if he was done. Alfred slid the plate of cookies across the table, getting a nervous chuckle from the teen as he bit into a still warm cookie.

Barbara wished she hadn't been so pushy. "Tim, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I shouldn't have pushed, you deserve to have been allowed to keep that to yourself."

Tim wiped at a moist eye, "Yeah, well, if I didn't tell you, you both would have just kept asking. Then you would have asked Damian when he gets home, and he would have assumed I said something when he asked me not to. We have a hard enough time getting along, that would make it worse."

Trying to cheer him up now, Barbara remarked, "You know, I think Damian actually would like to know what color his lung is." Tim chuckled while Alfred looked aghast. As a former Royal Army medic, Alfred was well aware of the sights Tim had described, and the horror one felt at seeing them.

"I don't blame you, Master Timothy, hospitals are dreadful places. We should all be so lucky as to never have to set foot in one."

Tim didn't reply, and the three sat in an uncomfortable silence until Tim excused himself, stating he had to use the restroom, but really just wanting to get out of the room. Figuring one of them would check on him, he actually went to the bathroom, instead of up to his bedroom, where he wanted to go in the first place. Just before he closed the door, Tim could hear Barbara and Alfred talking in hushed tones, but loud enough to catch Barbara saying, "_Out of respect for Damian?_ I didn't know Tim had any respect for Damian."

Instead of returning to the group, still not feeling comfortable, Tim wandered around upstairs. He eventually found himself outside of Damian's room. Even knowing it was empty didn't quell his feeling of foreboding as he entered the bedroom. In true Damian fashion, the room was very minimally decorated. The large picture on the wall of a generic coastline obviously predated Damian's time living in the room, and he hadn't bothered to have it removed. A sword hung from a hook by the door, looking far more practical than decorative. Drawings were scattered around the small desk, mostly designs for improvements he wanted to make to his gear. However, at the bottom of the stack, was an intricately detailed picture of Bruce's grave marker. The name had been removed, simply reading 'Father'. The dates had also been changed to a much shorter time period. Tim had to think about the dates. The death date was correct, but the born date was very recent. It was, in fact, the date Damian had first met Bruce. _He does feel, like he said._

Exiting the room, after making sure everything was exactly where he had found it, Tim suddenly felt inspired to increase his efforts in researching this gang. He headed back to the cave, but hesitated at the bottom step of the stairs as he saw Barbara and Alfred reading their latest search results.

Not wanting to make matters worse, neither Barbara nor Alfred said anything. They only acknowledged Tim's presence with a nod before passing him a stack of research.

After ten more minutes, Barbara sat back and asked, to no one in general, "I wonder what's keeping Dick?"

Dick, as he had promised, had spent extra time with Damian at the hospital. He was very excited that he could take his little brother home tomorrow afternoon. Dick detailed all of the plans he wanted to make with Damian once he was home, while Damian just nodded and tried to keep the annoyed look off of his face. Dick succeeded in his hidden plan, and bored Damian to sleep. After watching him for a bit, Dick was convinced that Damian was not going to wake up soon. He exited the room quietly, wondering at the reaction Tim and Barbara would have at his extended absence.

As he quietly closed the door, Dick turned around and came face to face with Red Hood. "Jay, you're a bit early, he just fell asleep. If you go in now, you will wake him and ruin your chance at hiding your halo."

Jason went to walk past Dick, who was standing in front of the door and still holding the handle. "He already knows, Big Bird. A nurse told him the other day, and he woke up while I was here last night. We talked for a while. Are you happy now? I saw him while he was awake, as you requested."

Dick was shocked, _Damian didn't mention it_. "Ye…Yeah, I guess I am happy. Stunned, but happy. Let him sleep tonight, please. He is going to have a busy day tomorrow. He has x-rays, two rounds of physical therapy, and, in the afternoon, I get to take him home." The smile the man showed was incongruous with the cowl covering most of his face, but Dick somehow made it work.

"That's great news, Batsy. I will make sure he gets his rest, even if I have to knock him out myself." Jason walked past the stunned Batman, and closed the door behind him, the click echoing with a sense of finality.

Dick left the hospital and returned to the cave, where, after changing and complaining that the remaining cookies were cold, he returned to reading the patent filing.

Close to midnight, as Barbara looked ready to fall asleep at any moment, and Tim was finishing his third energy drink of the day, Dick finished the report. He stood up and stretched, accepting a cup of coffee from a weary-looking Alfred. He walked around the table a couple times to get his blood flowing before returning to the last page of the report. "Hey, I think I found something here. This patent filing is signed by more people than just Hao Oshimaida. He had helpers, assistants, coworkers. Whatever they were to him, they obviously ranked high enough to get billing on a patent filing."

Barbara perked up at the thought that a missing piece was about to fall into place. "Anyone we know?"

Dick read the names for the fifth time, but nothing came to mind. "No, I don't think so. It's hard to tell; the names are just listed as first initial, last name, even Oshimaida is listed as 'H. Oshimaida'."

Tim was intrigued. "Well, what are the names?"

Dick read from the last page of the report. "Patent filing for metallurgical process refinements, submitted to Malaysian patent office. Report prepared by H. Oshimaida, T. Daka, and M. Fuji."

The three racked their brains, but could not make any connections to the names. Barbara pulled out the Oshimaida company roster as Tim entered the names into a search engine.

It was Barbara who made the first connection. "Guys, I have two names on the list that could be them. First is a Masahito Fuji. He is listed as founder, board of directors emeritus. No age listed, but for an 'emeritus' title, usually you have to be older and mostly inactive in the organization."

Tim shrugged, still staring at the Bat-Computer screen. "Well, you did say founder, and we know the company was founded in the eighties. Even if he was fresh out of college then, he could be towards retirement age now."

Barbara nodded, "You have a point. Second name is listed as Dr. Tito Daka, founder, board of directors, and lead researcher."

Dick interrupted, confused. "Why does a shipping company need a lead researcher?"

Barbara shook her head, "No clue. Just another question to add to the list."

Tim made the next connection, "Guys, I have a news report out of Singapore dated almost three years ago. Masahito Fuji is dead. He is listed as having a heart attack while driving and launching his car off of a bridge. Says here a moving eulogy was given at the funeral by the deceased's best friend and business partner, Tito Daka."

Dick came to stand behind the teen. "Does it say what he said that was so moving?"

Tim shook his head, already typing, "Not here, but I want to hear it, too."

Barbara and Alfred surrounded the teen as he searched. Barbara spoke, "Now we have names to go off of, but…"

Dick continued, "But, who is Dr. Tito Daka? What does he want with Gotham City? And, is he even the mastermind behind all this?"

**A/N: Well, there it is. I told you you wouldn't know who it is. Gather around, kiddies, it's time for a history lesson. Imagine, if you will, that it is 1942. The country is attempting to recover from the Pearl Harbor attack and is gearing up for a total war operation. Detroit stops making civilian cars and begins turning out tanks and bombers. Women donate their nylons to make parachutes. Men line up by the thousands to sign up for the armed forces, not waiting for the draft. Children scour their neighborhoods for scrap metal to be donated to the construction of war materiel. Women leave the home to work in the factories while the men are off fighting the axis. In the western states, citizens and non-citizens of Japanese descent are rounded up and imprisoned in "relocation" camps, much like the Nazi plans for the Jews in Europe, but with one hundred percent fewer furnaces and gas chambers. Nationalism, racism, and bigotry were at an all-time high in the United States. Those who were relocated were not deported because the government feared they would return as the first wave of an invading Japanese army. Graffiti and propaganda posters, created by the government, advocated for the removal and eradication of the Japanese from American society. Popular media of the day convinced loyal Americans that the Japanese were untrustworthy. **

**And, Hollywood went to war. Actors became war heroes. Performers signed on with the USO to travel to the battlefields to entertain the troops. Disney signed a contract with the government to make training films and propaganda posters. (Check out the Donald Duck cartoon 'Der Fuehrer's Face' for a taste of the type of films being produced at the time. As you watch it, remember that it was made to influence children of the day that America was always right.) Captain America became the hot property when issue number one showed Cap punching out Hitler on the cover. (The scene in the first Captain America movie, where he punches out the actor dressed like Hitler on stage while selling war bonds was an homage to that cover.)**

**The American public was fed a constant diet of anti-axis material over the two main forms of public entertainment, radio and movies. Television did not exist at the time. At least once a week, families would go to the movies to get their news and entertainment. It wasn't like going to the movies today. Then, you paid your dime or quarter, and could stay all day. You got a newsreel, a cartoon, a short, and a feature for the price of your admission. Today, what we would call episodes, were at the time called serials, or shorts. Patrons came to the theater for a new installment every week, so they could keep up with the latest adventures of whichever character was currently playing. (Sorry for the long-winded explanation, but here comes the payoff.) As it would turn out, Batman was the first comic book character to be licensed out for a serial. Columbia Pictures bought the rights to Batman and Robin and proceeded to create a 15 part weekly series. However, they forgot to get the rights to any of the Batman villains in the deal, and when they went back to negotiate for the rights to use any of the Rogue's Gallery Villains, they were refused. The comic book writers didn't want to confuse the public by having two differing story lines happening at the same time, so they told Columbia they had to come up with their own bad guy. Their final creation was Dr. Tito Daka, a Japanese researcher and distant relative of Emperor Hirohito. He infiltrated Gotham City to impede American war efforts and prepare the way for an invasion of the American Mainland. Of course, he was thwarted by Batman and Robin, who were portrayed as Government Agents, because the comic code and Hollywood conventions of the time did not allow for vigilantism. Gangsters were never allowed to win, and crime fighting was only to be done by duly appointed enforcers of the law. Batman had to have a badge in order to fight crime on screen at the time.**

**Dr. Daka was a racial stereotype from his first appearance on screen, even though he was played by a white man in make-up. He was made to embody the fears of the American Public. His plan included brainwashing normal, everyday Americans to carry out his nefarious plans, because what could possibly be more frightening to Joe and Jane Whitebread than not knowing if their neighbor was a collaborator, working for the enemy.**

**You can see the original serial on DVD today. It is quite interesting, if for no other reason than to see how racist and sexist the 1940's were. This serial was also very influential on the Batman comics of the day, resonating through to today with one major change to the series. This was the first appearance of the tall, skinny, older Alfred as he has been seen in every comic book and movie since, well, 1943. Up until this time, Alfred was drawn as a short, fat, middle aged man. After the serial finished, the comic book writers wrote into the series a B story where Alfred starts going to the gym to work out and lose weight. (He actually, inadvertently, finds the gym in the Bat Cave and starts using that. Batman kept his secret identity a secret from **_**everybody**_** back then.) After that, Alfred became skinny, taller, and older. So, everyone can thank the Gotham City serials for the current incarnation of Alfred.**

**Of course, I can't portray Dr. Daka as he was originally in 1943. Like I said in previous notes, I am only using the character name and ethnicity. If you want to find out what his plan for Gotham is, and how (or if) Batman stops him, you will just have to keep reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 7

"Boss. I think we might have a problem." The man ran into the Boss' quarters without knocking. Even though the door had been open, the man had broken protocol and interrupted his master.

The Boss was not pleased. "This had better be important, for such a breach of my trust. This had better be the biggest problem you have ever had to report, Agent 4."

Agent 10, still out of breath after running in from the Communications Room, was now scared for his life. "Sir, we may have been compromised."

The Boss considered this turn of events, and decided to allow his subordinate to live, at least until he finished his explanation. "Explain, Agent 4. I don't want to hear 'may'. Have we, or have we not been compromised?"

Agent 4 took a breath before continuing, knowing full well that his next few sentences would decide whether he lived or died. "I was performing a standard security check, as is my duty, when I found evidence of a serious, concerted effort to breach the files concerning Oshimaida Industries. I have never seen decryption software like this. Very high end stuff; our firewall was like Swiss cheese when it came to blocking this attack. Whoever they were, they got what they came for and stopped."

The Boss was annoyed, "What did they get?"

"Company employee roster for Oshimaida's American operations."

The Boss shook his head, "Your life expectancy is taking a turn for the worse."

"Please, sir. I beg you hear me out. This attack could have copied our entire network if they wanted, why just stop at something that is mostly public record?" Agent 4 broke out in a cold sweat, not knowing if his explanation would be good enough to spare his life. "I dug deeper, and found that several select files have been uncovered from other sources, sources that were supposedly buried years ago. Whoever this was didn't need to comb through our files, because they already had the ones they were looking for."

"And, what, pray tell, was that?"

Agent 4 closed his eyes, expecting to be struck down after finishing his next sentence. "Three sets of files, sir. One: the official government military records of Agent's 11, 12, and 13. Two: the death notification of Masahito Fuji. Three: a copy of Hao Oshimaida's 1978 patent request."

The Boss was silent for a full five minutes, staring at the man. To his credit, Agent 4 never flinched away from the penetrating gaze cast in his direction.

The Boss turned around to stare at the wall. On the wall were two pieces that appeared to be modern art; line drawings, one depicting circles joining hexagons, while the other was all jagged triangles and vertical lines. He had painstakingly protected these two pieces of art, making sure they were displayed in his quarters just so, no matter how many times they had to be packed up during transitions from one base of operations to another.

"Tell me, Agent 4. You have been with me almost from the beginning, right?"

The man relaxed fractionally behind his boss' back. "If you say so, sir. Only you know where and when this began."

The Boss nodded, "That's right, Agent 4. I assume you can deduce by your number that you are close to the top of the pecking order, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you must assume that there is a reason, other than time served, that keeps you near the top?"

The man became suspicious as to where this was going. "I am here to serve, Boss."

The Boss waved his hand, dismissing the comment. "You are going to prove your worth to me, right now. Answer me this question: What do those records have in common? Why did you believe that whoever has those particular records is dangerous enough to our operation to disturb me the way you did?"

Agent 4 thought for a few minutes. He was given the extra few minutes of life because the Boss wanted to test a theory. If his own Agent could come up with a believable answer, then whoever had the records might come to the same conclusion. He began slowly, hoping these wouldn't be his last words, "Okay, the service records contain the men's real names. Those names are also on the employee roster for Oshimaida Industries. Service records also show the men's specialties and reason for discharge. They were all in supply, therefore they would be perfect candidates to work for a shipping company. I don't see a connection to the patent request, sir. Or the Singapore news story, for that matter."

The Boss looked thoughtful, he was coming up with the same conclusions, all adding up to nothing. "We are missing something; something that whoever is investigating us obviously isn't. More must have been left behind at the storehouse than we originally thought. Get me a copy of Agent 17's final report on the warehouse incident."

Agent 4 bowed himself out of the room, thankful to be leaving with his hide intact. He returned two minutes later, out of breath from running back and forth. He handed over the file and waited while his Boss read it twice. He didn't dare leave at this point, he hadn't been dismissed.

"Perhaps this is something. Agent 17 reported hearing three gunshots before the explosion. That must be it. All our armed subcontractors were issued AP rounds to deal with law enforcement. The idea is to collect the rounds after the situation is handled, but it appears that no one in the warehouse survived to carry out protocol. They must have been examined by the Batman."

Agent 4 gasped as realization began to dawn. "The Batman survived?"

"It would appear so. He must be the detective everyone claims he is to have come so far so fast. I admit, I didn't count him as this big a threat when I first considered this plan. We will have to reorganize our schedule, and increase operational security."

Agent 4 shook his head. "I still don't get the connection, Boss."

"The Batman must have analyzed the rounds and followed the signature back to Oshimaida and his research. That led to the patent request and the Singapore article. As one of the few people in this organization who knows, tell me, Agent 4, what is my name?"

"Um…Dr. Tito Daka, sir."

Dr. Daka turned around, staring at the man. "Can you tell me where that name can be found?"

"Nowhere, sir. You have worked for years to make sure of that, to make sure that nothing can be traced back to you."

"Obviously, I was not as thorough as I thought. Just as obviously, you did not read the files before bringing them to my attention."

Agent 4's throat began to dry out again, "No, sir. I thought it best to notify you as soon as possible."

"You were right to do so, Agent 4. However, you have shown me three records today that all bear my name. I want Agents 5 and 6 scouring records to find other instances of my identity before our plans move forward. I need to know how many more records out there can be traced to me, and how many of them may be able to compromise our plans."

"It will be done, sir. May I ask a question, sir?"

"If it is the right one, yes."

Agent 4 swallowed before continuing, "How do the buried military records fit in to the records from the company, other than who they belong to?"

"That, Agent 4, is what you will tell me."

Agent 4 was sweating at the prospect of his almost impossible task. "Yes sir."

"And, Agent 4?"

"Yes, sir?"

"By tomorrow afternoon, you had better have an answer. Especially if you want to see tomorrow night."

Agent 4 bowed himself out of the room again and ran for the Communications Room as Dr. Daka turned back to the art on his wall. He traced his index finger over the circles and hexagons, lost in thought at the meaning of the piece. It was actually a hand drawing of Hao Oshimaida's chemical formula, the metallurgical mix that would have made him a very rich man. Dr. Daka and Mr. Fuji had been research assistants, mere students, when they sat and watched Oshimaida draw this out by hand, from memory.

His ask of his students had been initially simple. _I have designed it, it is up to you to make it work._ The trio had worked for six long years before perfecting the formula, sacrificing everything in pursuit of science.

Their goal was simple: change the world. Imagine a material that could stand up to the pressures of the bottom of the oceans and the vacuum of deep space while weighing half the weight of the steel required to do the same task. Imagine building a car that could be crash-tested at twice the normal speed, yet take a quarter of the normal damage. Imagine framing a house with this material, a house that could withstand earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, and all at the same time. Their vision had been infinite.

Now, all that was left was a drawing, and a co-opted future. When the government had raided their laboratory, everything became evidence, and therefore, government property. And, in that moment, Daka and Fuji had sworn to recover their future. They planned to fight back against government corruption, and uncaring regimes. They planned to reshape the world in their own image, into a place where one's past would not stand in the way of the future good they could accomplish.

Then, Masahito Fuji had died.

It actually was just as the news media described it, a medical emergency leading to a tragic accident. Had he not been driving at the time, Fuji would have survived the heart attack. The loss of his best friend had softened Daka's stance on their master plan. He was ready to give it all up, when rumors began circulating that Oshimaida didn't just die in prison, but was assassinated. There was no official report on the death, just rumor and speculation.

Oshimaida was given life in prison after the war crimes trial. The only dissenting vote for the life sentence had come from the American representative to The Hague. He had boisterously and vociferously advocated for the death penalty to be carried out immediately for Oshimaida's role in the torture and death of countless American GI's in Japanese prison camps during World War II. He lodged formal protests with every government that voted against the death penalty. He published a paper demanding economic sanctions against Japan, demanding equal reparations as those being considered at the time to be paid to the Japanese in the American internment camps.

The representative never got his demand, but there was enough of a ground swell movement for the government to take action. Officially, a statement was released to the public stating that justice had been done in the court of law, and that America would abide by the decision. Privately, as soon as the story was out of the national news media, a black operative force had surreptitiously entered the prison and executed Hao Oshimaida, making it look like a natural death.

Tito Daka was able to find out about the Black team the same way he found out about everything else, by hard work and research. From then on, he had a new target, the American Government. He didn't want to overthrow the government and supplant it with himself; honestly, who really wants to run the United States? His goal was to expose the Black programs to the world. He wanted to wake people up to the wool that had been pulled over their eyes.

His plan had been simple: develop Oshimaida's wonder material into the strongest bullets he could make, sell them to the government, then wait for them to fall into the hands of the Black operatives. After a few covert assassinations, he would reveal the origin of the weaponry used in the assassinations as that used by government-sanctioned death squads, and let the court of public opinion tear apart the government for him.

It had been an ideal plan, except for a few small details. First, the process of making the material into the armor piercing rounds was prohibitively expensive. While originally conceived as a cover entity, Oshimaida Industries Shipping took off as the main branch of the program for a while to raise the capital needed. Second, the Cold War ended, greatly reducing the chances of a high profile assassination. Daka couldn't count on the government shooting itself in the foot anymore, so to speak, so the plan had to change again. He began taking the highly dangerous, off the books shipping requests. The more criminal, yet under the radar, the better. Oshimaida Industries would transport anything that had the potential to disrupt normal life and make things difficult for the government.

Daka moved to the other picture hanging on his wall. This one was his timeline. Again, drawn by hand, this time by Daka himself, on the day he found out that Oshimaida had been assassinated. There had been many changes over the years, many setbacks. However, Daka was finally entering his final phase. He had moved operations onto American soil five years ago to look for a location to stage his final showdown. After almost a year of searching, he had decided on Gotham City. It was important enough to the country to make an impact, yet not so vital as to have a great government presence. Most of the upstanding citizens had moved on years ago. Crime was a part of everyday life. It had more access points than he needed. There was no shortage of wannabe criminals, looking to make a name for themselves in a well-run criminal enterprise.

There was, however, a large rodent problem. Flying rodents that patrolled the city by night and inspired the populace. Do-gooders who insisted on helping rid the city of the type of people he had come to need for his operation. Vigilantes who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty to try to get the streets clean. Up until recently, Daka and Batman had led insular lives. Neither had a reason to know the other existed. Daka had, of course, kept tabs on the Batman. Know one's enemy, as the maxim goes.

It was inevitable that their paths would cross. Daka had hoped his plan would be farther along before the meeting. It was an inconvenience, but he had contingencies for everything.

Daka left his quarters and entered the Communications Room. He instantly had the attention of everyone in the room, as it should be. "Listen up, our plans are changing. We need to institute greater operational security to ensure our future success. Effectively immediately, all current operations are suspended. Issue the orders for all Agents to stand down and await further orders. We are changing operational mode from one-3 to one-7. Access plans for one-7 on the server and distribute new orders 24 hours from this mark. Be sure to adjust orders for recent losses in personnel. It's time to open the next phase of the operation."

**A/N: Honestly, I don't think this is my best chapter, but I felt like getting some exposition in to move the story along a bit. Now that the long-winded explanations are out of the way, I can get back to what I like writing. This will be the last bad-guy-centric chapter. From now on, light and dark stories with be intermixed in chapters, just to pick up the pacing a bit.**

**Just so everyone is aware, even though it should be obvious, the 'history' sections of this chapter are complete fabrications that come from my own mind. Yes, there was torture of prisoners in Japanese prisoner of war camps, and many were killed (look up the Bataan Death March for a grisly example), but most of the events depicted here did not happen. That's why it's called fiction. There were also reparations made by the government to survivors of the American Japanese internment camps, but those didn't come along until the Clinton Administration, and the timeframe depicted in this chapter is more in line with Reagan and Bush (first Bush, not Dubya).**

**Stay tuned for my next chapter, where Damian comes home from the hospital. There may be a delay in getting that one out, as I am working on a One-Shot right now. It will be a follow-up to my story "Under the Big Top." I felt like writing something extra-fluffy, and nothing is fluffier in my mind than a young Richard Grayson. I am also working 7 days a week now, which cuts writing time almost down to nothing. Student loans suck.**

**Standard Disclaimer: The only DC characters I own are the Lil' Gotham Batman and Robin action figures I bought online. They look good sitting on the desk in my cubicle at work. Otherwise, I claim no ownership of anything.**


	8. Chapter 8

Dark Days, Black Nights

Chapter 8

_Monday Afternoon_

Batman arrived at Gotham Mercy Hospital at a quarter to one, continuing his series of unusual, daytime excursions. It had become a regular sight for the hospital staff to see the Caped Crusader stalking the halls. However, what they could not get over was the fact that Batman was friendly. All the news reports on Batman's nightly activities showed some nameless hooligan being carted off to jail, yelling to high heaven that the Batman had beaten him within an inch of his life, or had turned his blood to ice with just a glare. Here, Batman talked in a civil tone. He had lunch brought in for the hospital staff. He even, occasionally, smiled.

Robin, on the other hand, could be described as the surly one. Of course, he was polite and thankful for his care, but many on staff wondered if the Boy Wonder wasn't only acting that way on orders from Batman. Most of the time, he demanded to be left alone. He didn't seek out conversation with the staff, and he was very particular about who took care of him. One newer nurse was one of the few who had gained his acceptance. She was awarded with Employee of the Month, as the hospital management recognized the nurse had done the almost impossible.

Batman was smiling as he approached Robin's room. Dr. Thompkins was leaving, looking nervous as she turned around and ran into the cowled man.

"Oh, hi Batman. I'm glad you're here. I need your help with Robin. There was a problem and we need to keep him for one more night. It was completely our fault, we will take full responsibility for it, but I want you around when I explain it to him."

Batman's smile faltered at the nervous look on the woman's face. "What happened? It can't have been too serious, or you would have called me."

As he spoke, Batman walked into the room, Dr. Thompkins following in his wake. He stopped and looked around the room before asking, "Where is he, doc?"

She sighed, "In surgery."

Batman whipped around, his jaw dropping, "What do you mean, _in surgery?_ What happened?"

Leslie closed the door before continuing. "We were removing the cast from his wrist with the micro-circular saw, as is normally done in any hospital, when…it broke. I can't tell you exactly what happened, because I just don't know, but the saw had a…catastrophic failure. I don't know if the saw blew up, or shorted out, or what. Either way, it electrocuted the Physician's Assistant who was performing the removal, and cut pretty deeply into Damian's arm. The PA is in the burn unit, and Damian is having his arm x-rayed and stitched. He should be back in about an hour. You can wait here."

Batman was astounded. "Why didn't you call me?"

Leslie was on the defensive, "This just happened, maybe half an hour ago. I wanted to make sure he's stable before contacting you. Please, don't be mad at the PA. It was a freak accident that could have happened to anybody."

Batman turned his back, taking a deep breath to calm himself before speaking again. "Will the PA be okay?"

Leslie let out the breath she had been holding, "He should be. He will be out of work for a while, while his hands heal, but he should be able to return to work within a few weeks."

Batman nodded, "Good, now take me to Damian, please."

She nodded, leading the taller man down to the surgical suite. Instead of following Leslie to the observation room, Batman headed straight for the surgery room itself. He fitted a surgical mask over the exposed bit of his face and large surgical gloves over his gauntlets before entering the room. Dr. Thompkins didn't notice that Batman was no longer behind her until she saw him enter the operating room.

Fortunately, the doctor stitching up Robin's arm was finished with his work, because the shock of seeing Batman stalking up to the operating table was more than enough to make him drop the scissors he had been using to trim the ends of his last stitch. He backed away from the table as Batman leaned over Robin.

"I can understand the mask, but the gloves just look ridiculous," Robin commented from the table. They had just used a local anesthetic while the medical staff cleaned and stitched the wound.

Robin looked around the room and commented, "They tell me this is the same room where I had my operation when we first got here. That was almost four weeks ago, now. Can I go home yet?"

_I never thought I would hear Damian whine, but if he ever had a reason, this is it._ Batman sighed in relief as the nurse continued to bandage the wound. "Doc says you can go home tomorrow. I'm sure it will take until then to get all the post-hospital instructions for your care."

Robin was wheeled back to his room, where the bandage was checked again before the dynamic duo were left alone. They spoke for a couple hours about nothing in general before Dr. Thompkins and Leroy, Damian's preferred physical therapist, entered the room. Damian had gone through several before announcing that he liked Leroy and the way he pushed Damian to recover.

As Batman left with Dr. Thompkins, Leroy tossed a yellow and black ball to Robin. "Hey, Robin! Think fast!" Damian caught the ball with his left hand, his ribs barely giving him a twinge as he quickly shot his arm above his head to catch the projectile.

"What am I supposed to do with a foam ball, Leroy? The cast just barely came off, I don't think my grip strength is going to be good enough right now to throw it back. Besides, I don't partake in childish games like catch."

The muscular therapist smiled warmly as he approached the bed. "You hit the nail on the head, son. Your grip strength should be terrible right now. That's where the ball comes in. Put it in your right hand, yes just like that," Damian had done as he was told, "Now, squeeze it."

Damian tried to follow directions, but found that his fingers barely moved when he commanded them to squeeze. As a result, the ball rolled out of his hand and onto the floor as he hissed in pain. He had had limited mobility in his fingers, due to the cast, and now he was hurting as unused muscles tried to become active again.

Damian suddenly remembered an overheard conversation from a couple weeks ago, talking about the possibility of nerve damage in the boy. _Is this what they were talking about? Is this muscle atrophy, or permanent nerve damage?_

Leroy noticed the scared look on Robin's face and felt compassion for the boy. "I though as much. Don't worry about it, in a couple days, your hand will be back to normal; you just haven't used those muscles in a while. Here, give me your hand."

Damian blew out a sigh of relief. _Oh good, atrophy, not nerve damage._ He held up his hand as the man approached. Leroy massaged the fingers, then the palm, trying to get the digits pliable again.

After a couple minutes, Leroy placed the ball back in Robin's hand. "Okay, let's try that again. This time, I'm going to help you, but you have to help me by putting everything you have into squeezing that ball. Got it?" Damian nodded, unsure what the man had planned. "Okay. Just a quick warning, this is really going to hurt, but we will go slow, so we don't pop any of your new stitches."

Damian took a deep breath and nodded again. He tried to grip the ball again, his fingers moving to make a loose cup around the ball, but still not tight enough to keep from dropping the ball again. Leroy's large hand surrounded Damian's small hand, slowly contracting into a loose fist and forcing the fingers to close tighter around the ball.

Damian gave a guttural moan of pain as tight muscles were forced to stretch farther than they had in weeks. A burning sensation shot all the way up his arm, and he felt like the man had torn his muscles out through his fingers. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he bit his lip against the sudden pain.

Leroy slowly loosened his grip and let the fingers return to a relaxed position. He gently put the boy's arm down and waited for a couple minutes before asking, "Well, how they feel?"

The boy opened his mouth to give a response that Dick would not be proud of, but then thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Instead, he asked, "Why did you do that? That really hurt. It still hurts."

"Got the fingers moving again, though. Come on, I thought you were the Boy Wonder? I thought you could handle a little pain? If this was too much for you, what's going to happen when you come back to get the cast off your foot?"

Damian looked at the man sideways, "I don't think you will be trying to bend my foot in half then, especially when I can kick you without having to worry about the bones still being broken. And it wasn't too much for me, I just wasn't ready, that's all."

Leroy laughed, "Weren't ready, huh? Some crime fighter you are. Aren't you Bat boys supposed to be on guard at all times?"

Robin gave a half smile, "Being here, and being forced to hang around with you, has dulled my senses. It's a good thing I'm leaving tomorrow."

Leroy nodded to the ball, "Pick it up, try it again."

Damian reached over and grabbed at the ball, his hand now flexing enough to just barely lift the ball off the bed. Damian looked up at the man with shock on his face.

Leroy smiled again. "See, told you. I want you to squeeze that ball like there's no tomorrow. By the time you come back, I want you to be able to throw and catch that thing like it's the easiest thing in the world. Take that ball everywhere you go, squeeze it as often as you can, as hard as you can, for as long as you can. Feel how stiff the foam is? When you come back, I want it to be as soft as a crushed tomato, got it?"

Damian nodded and started trying to grip the ball as Leroy walked out of the room. As he passed the partially open door, Leroy heard a soft 'thank you, Leroy,' come from the stoic boy he had been getting to know over the last couple weeks. He knew better than to return to the room to comment on the gratitude, he just accepted it and let Robin think he hadn't heard it, which is what Damian had been hoping.

Dick returned to the room and informed Damian that everything had been arranged, and Dick could take him home first thing in the morning. He also informed Damian that he would be staying the night, so the boy didn't have to stay any longer than necessary in the morning. Damian huffed at the news, but Dick knew he was hiding his true feelings.

Damian was ecstatic that he would be leaving in the morning, but even happier that Dick was staying with him. He tried hard to not let on about his feelings, but felt that Dick could see right through him. They talked for a few more hours, Dick giving a detailed update about the progress of the case, and wishing he had brought some of the research for Damian to read.

They both fell asleep fairly early, but were able to sleep straight through the night. This was the first night in about a week where the overnight chart notes didn't include some sort of nightmare or disturbance in Robin's sleep pattern.

Damian awoke in the morning to a nurse changing the dressing over his latest wound. Once she left, Dr. Thompkins entered and closed the door to give her final instructions.

"Okay you two, you're just about done with this place. Damian, you need to follow the instructions that Leroy gave you if you hope to regain full use of your limbs. Try to stay off your feet at least until the cast comes off. I'm giving you a crutch to help in transferring from bed to chair, or chair to toilet, but I don't want to hear reports that you are walking around yet. And I will give you the same warning I gave Dick here: no Caped Crusading until you have been fully cleared by myself and Alfred. It is still my suggestion that you retire as Robin, but you know I can't stop you. But beware: returning to crime fighting in your condition could be fatal. Give yourself time to heal and recover, or Alfred has my permission to burn all your Robin uniforms. You have a follow up appointment in a few days to check out your arm and, hopefully, take out the last of your stitches. Take care, boys. Gotham may need you, but that doesn't mean that it needs you right now. Give yourself time to get back into it."

Batman and Robin thanked the doctor as Batman pushed Robin, now back in full uniform for his release from the hospital, out of the building. Almost all the staff of the recovery floor turned out to wish the young crime fighter luck in his recovery. Damian was acutely uncomfortable with all the attention, but to Dick's astonishment, he was gracious and polite in thanking the staff. The Dynamic Duo was soon in the Batmobile, heading back to the cave.

They made it a couple blocks before Damian sat bolt upright and asked, "Hey, aren't we supposed to pay the hospital, or something? I was there for weeks, that can't be free."

Dick laughed, watching the road as he rummaged in the utility belt. He finally pulled out two small cards and tossed them into Damian's lap. Damian picked up the small slips of plastic and read them. _He's kidding, right?_

The cards were insurance plan membership cards from Blue Cross Blue Shield of Gotham. Under the subscriber name on one was printed _Robin, _the other belonged to _Batman_. Damian looked up at Dick with an incredulous look on his face. "You're kidding, right?"

Dick shook his head, "Bruce thought of everything. We are officially listed as private security employees of the Wayne Foundation. It's never come up before, because I think this may be the first time any of us have ever had to use the policies. Alfred can handle a lot, but it is nice to have the option of expanded medical care. It's like the Bat-MasterCard, I never leave the cave without it."

Damian shook his head, not too sure if Dick was being totally serious now. "No, I'm calling BS on that one. A Bat credit card? No way. I can understand the insurance plans in our line of work, but a credit card?"

Dick was laughing again, "I had to try; it was worth a shot."

They drove on, slowly regaining their old banter on the trip home. As they entered the cave, Tim, Barbara, and Jason were gathered around the computer, only partially working while waiting for Dick and Damian to return. They approached the Batmobile as the canopy opened, and were all overjoyed to see the young Robin's head poking out of the passenger seat.

The trio rushed to the car, but were pushed aside as Alfred came rushing through the middle of the group. The butler gathered up the boy in his arms, holding him tightly as a few tears of joy leaked from his eyes.

Damian blushed bright red at the show of affection, but secretly didn't want it to end. "Pennyworth, it is agreeable to see you doing so well. Hospital food leaves much to be desired."

"My boy…Master Damian. You seem to be recovering well. I have received good reports from Dr. Thompkins. Come, let's get you out of that uniform and into something more appropriate." Alfred said this like he was giving Damian a choice, but walked to the locker room still holding his surrogate grandchild. Dick followed with the wheelchair, giggling at the old butler in a very un-Batman fashion.

The formality of the greetings belied the true feeling behind the sentiment, but each was aware of how the other truly felt. They both missed each other, though they would never admit it out loud; their respective upbringings would never allow it.

Dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, Damian was settled in his chair again as Dick, in sweats and a t-shirt, pushed him back into the cave, towards the three other occupants, forgotten in the formal emotionality. Alfred went upstairs to fix a late breakfast for Damian.

Damian nodded to the cave's occupants in greeting. "Gordon…Todd…Drake."

All three nodded back simultaneously and said in one voice, "Wayne."

As Damian 'Tt'-ed and tried to hide a smirk, Jason leaned over to Tim, "Oh, good. For a moment there, I thought we had disappeared or something."

Tim answered, "What did you expect? You saw him almost every night. Alfred hasn't seen him in almost a month. That's long enough to almost forget how annoying he can be."

"I'm right here, and I can hear every word you're saying. You know that, right?" Damian asked.

Responding together, Jason and Tim answered, "Yeah."

Barbara wheeled herself up to Damian. "Well, I, for one, am glad to see you out of the hospital, and looking almost healthy. Now, since you can't run away, and will have a hard time chasing me…" Barbara leaned over and gave Damian a kiss on the cheek.

Damian blushed redder than when Alfred had picked him up. Flustered, he blurted out, "GORDON!"

She smiled at the reaction, "Welcome back, Damian."

_Soon After_

Feeling he had suffered enough embarrassment at the hands of his family, Damian asked Dick to take him up to the kitchen. Damian wanted to spend some time with Alfred. He wasn't sure why, but he felt that he needed to be alone with the butler for a while. Dick tried to explain that the kitchen wouldn't be a good idea, but Damian insisted, right up to the point where they entered the kitchen and approached the tall table, which, given Damian's current seated disposition, was unusable as the bottom of the table sat just over his head.

Dick, wheeling Damian to the living room on orders from Alfred, said, "I told you, little D, the kitchen was a bad idea."

Damian replied dryly, "Well, geez, it's only been a month since I've been here, with several traumatic injuries in between. Excuse me for assuming I would be able to eat in our normal accommodations."

Alfred entered the room, carrying two cups of tea. "Master Dick, you will find a serving table with a plate in the kitchen. Please bring your brother his breakfast." Dick left the room, wondering what the sudden change in Alfred could be about. Alfred handed one of the cups of tea to Damian and said, "I know you only drink it to humor me, but, if it's acceptable, would you have a cup with me?"

Damian nodded and accepted the cup, wondering how Alfred always knows what's on his mind. "I was hoping to…spend some time with you, Pennyworth. I wanted to talk about…"

Damian stopped as Dick entered the room and set the table and plate in front of Damian. As much as he wanted to continue, the simple meal looked and smelled incredible. Since Alfred had already said the food was for him, he felt no qualms about digging in while it was still hot, giving the old servant a warm feeling inside at the enjoyment the meal brought his young charge.

Dick was hovering around Damian, still getting used to having him back home. Alfred and Damian shared a look, silently wondering how to get rid of the oldest Bird. Damian tried giving several subtle hints, all of which were either ignored, or sailed over Dick's head.

Finally, when Damian had finished the meal, Alfred spoke up, "Master Dick, please take the table and plate back to the kitchen, and if you would be so kind, wash up for me in there, and take your time. When you're done, please check in on your brothers downstairs and make sure they haven't made any breaks in the case without you."

Dick finally got the hint and left the room with the table and plate while Alfred shook his head and Damian chuckled.

Once he was gone and out of earshot, Damian started again. "Do you think we should find someplace more private?"

"No, I think he got the message, finally." Alfred took a sip of his tea before asking, "Are you okay, Master Damian?"

Damian nodded slowly. "The doctor's seem to have done good work on me, and Mother's altering my DNA to increase healing helped immensely."

Alfred nodded with a smile, "I see. So, child, what is it you wanted to know about your father?"

_How did he…?_ "Is there anything the Wayne's can hide from you?"

"No, child. Master Dick could never hide his pain, Master Jason could never hide his angst, or his hope, Master Timothy could never hide his insecurities, you could never hide your intentions. You father could never hide the pictures he kept of the four of you in his wallet."

Damian looked away, "So he did care."

Alfred was shocked, "Of course, child. What would make you think he didn't?"

Damian spoke quietly, "He never talked to me. We spoke, and he would give me orders and recite rules, but we never _talked_. I felt like…like I wanted a father, and he wanted a soldier."

Alfred looked critically at the boy, "Was that where the disconnect was?"

"No. I don't know. I tried to be what I thought he wanted, but we kept drifting farther apart. Then, he was gone. I don't feel like I ever really got to know him. I turned my back on everything I knew, for him. I always felt like he had expectations of me, but he wouldn't tell me what they were or help me get there."

Alfred felt an old wound being ripped open in his heart, "Did you ever take the time to ask for that help?"

Damian mumbled, looking at the bandage on his arm, "No. We never found the right time. There was never enough time. He was always mad at me, or running off to do something or to save the world, or…or I was too stubborn to listen when he tried to teach me. He eventually stopped trying. Am I really that much of a lost cause? I've changed, haven't I?"

The boy's pleading sounded like another Wayne child long ago, trying to rationalize events and actions that were irrational and incomprehensible. "Master Damian, you are the child you are. You are the product of your upbringing, and the child of your parents. You were created to be this extraordinary person, to do great things. But, if there is one thing that is lacking from all portions of this equation, it's cohesion. You were raised in two different worlds, bred for two different purposes. You were thrown suddenly, and without warning or preparation, from one world to the other, and you have tried everything within your knowledge to reconcile two incompatible situations. The only common denominator, is you. You were given a choice, and you made it, and I must say, you made the right one. But then, you were expected to shift everything instantly, without for an adjustment period. It wasn't fair to you. Are you a lost cause? Yes, and no. You are only as lost as you allow yourself to be. There is help all around you, even though it is not the help you originally wanted. Have you changed? Yes. Is this the answer you were hoping for? Probably not, but I think it is the right one for now."

Damian nodded slowly and thought on Alfred's words. _I am…me. What else is there?_

Finally, he looked into the old butler's eyes, a smile on his face and a tear in his eye, and asked, "Tell me about my father, please?"

_A few days later_

Life had begun to return to normal around the manor, now that the family was back together. Damian was still adjusting to being home, and to being limited in his activities. He was used to having the run of the manor; it was his house, after all. Now, he was limited to whatever floor he could get someone to drag his wheelchair to. It was frustrating, having to plan every move so far in advance, making sure he could get where he needed to, when he needed to get there.

He had tried navigating the stairs on his own the night he came home from the hospital, to no success whatsoever. Figuring that down was not going to be a problem, he could either slide down the bannister or take it one step at a time, inching down on his butt, Damian tried instead for up.

Using his crutch under his left arm, and only slight pressure on his right arm on the bannister, made for slow going. Several things hindered his progress. He didn't want to put too much pressure on the right arm and run the risk of popping his stitches. He still didn't trust the strength of the replaced knee, even though it was far stronger than his natural knee and he had practiced putting weight on it in physical therapy. He had never used crutches before, and was not skilled, or even familiar, with the proper way to use them on stairs. He had spent weeks in bed without exercising, and as a result, he had gained several pounds and lost a good deal of endurance and stamina. However, his biggest problem at the moment was that his plaster cast kept slipping on the polished wooden steps. Still, Damian attempted to persevere, even though he was wishing he had a spotter.

His first sign of trouble came four steps up, when his cast started slipping. Three more steps brought the beginning of fatigue, accompanied with sweating from exertion. Two steps later, the sweat caused his arm to slip off the bannister. He was able to catch himself with the crutch, but his hand was becoming sweaty, and he feared he would lose his grip on the crutch. Determined not to give up, he made it three more steps towards the top; that was when his mind started to work. His wheelchair was at the bottom of the steps and his room was forty feet down the hall at the top of the stairs. He was already shaking from the exertion and effort, he knew he would never make it to his room at this point.

Still, he went on, for one more step. The combination of his sweaty arm slipping off the bannister and his cast slipping on the polished wood caused Damian to spin ungainly towards his left. Trying to catch himself with the crutch actually caused him to spin a bit faster, tweaking his new knee and sending an odd type of pain shooting up his leg.

All this happened in a matter of two seconds before Damian collapsed on the staircase. He had made it almost three-quarters of the way up, something that Dick made him swear not to try until he was a bit stronger.

The crash, and resulting string of profanity, echoed through the manor. In a matter of seconds, Dick stood at the bottom of the stairs, while Tim stood at the top. Both rushed to his aid, picking him up and carrying him to his bed. Alfred came quickly to check for new injuries, and only found a bruise forming on his thigh, where he hit the stairs.

All three men stood surrounding the bed, demanding an explanation. Damian suddenly felt like the ten year old he was, not something that happened to him often. He began to sniffle, feeling like the interrogation was unwarranted as he explained how useless he felt having people do everything for him. He told them that he just wanted to feel like his old self again. They understood, but all four agreed that he would accept their help until he could help himself, and that it would be safer if he were to stay in the manor, at least until he got his strength back. Damian threw in one proviso stating that he could at least try to get up the stairs without being carried as long as one of the other men in the house were there to help.

He hated being cooped up inside all day, but it had allowed him time to catch up on a few books that he had been wanting to read.

Damian was sitting in the Living room in his wheelchair, next to the couch, reading a book, when Tim and Stephanie walked into the room, talking, interrupting his peace.

"…I don't know. How about that new movie that came out last week?"

Tim looked at her, "Okay, I guess. I mean, if Dick wants to take the time for all of us to relax together, that one looks just stupid enough for him to love it."

Stephanie slapped his arm, "Hey! I actually want to see that one! It doesn't look _that_ stupid." She stopped with a gasp as she finally noticed Damian sitting in the room, staring at them. "Geez, say something, why don't you? I didn't see you there."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Of course you didn't, I was trained to be a master of stealth."

She snorted a laugh and said, "No, you are wearing a brown shirt, sitting in the corner of a room between a brown couch and a brown wall. I would say you are more chameleon than stealth fighter."

Damian turned away, smiling. _The Chameleon, I like that._

Steph and Tim thought she may have hurt his feelings, until Damian turned back to face them, still with an evil grin on his face.

Jason walked into the room, yawning after just waking up from his nap. "What's going on here?"

Tim looked back, "Oh, just a possible new nickname for Damian: Chameleon."

Jason stared. He could see how they could say that, given the overwhelming sense of brown in the room that had extended to Damian's choice of clothing for the day. "Chameleon? Maybe closer to _Karma_ Chameleon."

Tim and Steph stopped, unable to believe what Jason had just said. Tim's eyes were wide and Steph's jaw was slack with wonder. Damian was confused as he rolled himself a bit closer.

Steph said slowly, "Oh…My…God. I can't believe you just said that. That is…Amazing!"

Tim stared at Steph, like he had just been let in on the secret of the universe. "How could we have never thought of that before? It's so obvious!"

Steph nodded enthusiastically, "I know, right?"

Damian didn't understand what had just gone on, other than a joke had just been made at his expense. Damian didn't like when people laughed at him, especially when he didn't understand the joke. He rolled to the middle of the room before asking, "What does that mean?"

Tim and Stephanie ignored him, all their attention on Jason. Stephanie hugged the taller man, while Tim gave him a slow clap. Damian quickly became annoyed with the three. He hated being left out of the obvious inside joke.

Fed up with being ignored, Damian yelled, "Hey!" All three finally remembered that he was in the room and turned in his direction. "What does that mean, Karma Chameleon?"

All three smirked, finding it unbelievable that Damian was unaware of the reference. Tim and Steph looked at each other, nodded, then turned back to Damian, both singing in the tune of the 1980's classic, "Red, Gold, and Green! Red, Gold, and Green!"

"Huh? Do you want to try making some sense now?" Damian was still oblivious to the joke.

They couldn't contain themselves anymore. Tim, Steph, and Jason broke down into a fit of laughter, pissing Damian off. Damian rolled out of the room, running into Tim purposely as he left. As he rolled down the hall, he heard Stephanie singing, "Karma, karma, karma, karma, Karma Chameleon!"

An hour later, Dick found Damian in the Ballroom, playing Ravel's Pieces for the Left Hand. It was one of the few things he could play right now, since his right hand was still weak and still bandaged for another couple days. Damian appeared upset, and Dick didn't know why. He hadn't seen anyone for a while, and was wondering if everyone was still alive.

He waited for Damian to finish before asking, "Where you been? I've been looking for you."

Damian looked up at Dick, but didn't respond. He instead dragged himself off the bench and tried to get back in his wheelchair. The bench began to tip, and Dick rushed over to catch his brother before he landed on the hardwood floor, possibly aggravating his injuries. He helped his brother back into his chair, knowing how much Damian wanted to be rid of the contraption.

Dick could tell something was bothering Damian. "Want to talk about it?"

Damian shook his head, not looking at Dick. He wanted to be alone, and he definitely didn't want someone feeling sorry for him.

Dick wondered what had happened. The last time he saw Damian, he had been reading happily in the living room. He had sent Tim in to see if he wanted to go to a movie tonight. Something must have happened between D and Timmy. He would have to ask Tim later. "Dinner is in a few minutes. I can take you in there, if you want."

"Please, I want to go to my room. Help me up the stairs?" Damian's voice sounded strained. Dick thought that, whatever had happened, it must have been pretty bad, at least in Damian's mind.

Dick nodded and pushed his brother towards the stairs. At the base of the stairs, Dick grabbed Damian's crutch from the bannister and held it out to Damian. The child made no effort to reach for the crutch, but instead looked away from Dick as he reached for the man instead of the device. Dick put the crutch back and instead picked up his brother and carried him up the stairs.

He settled the boy on his bed and asked, "What about dinner?"

Damian, still not looking at Dick, replied, "I'm not hungry. I just want to be left alone, for now."

Dick wished he could help, "You sure?" Damian nodded.

Dick picked up Damian's phone and laptop from the desk and placed them on the bed, next to Damian. As he pointed to the phone, he said, "You have your phone. If you need anything, just call me, I'll get you whatever you want. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Damian nodded again as Dick walked out of the room. As he closed the door, Dick could have sworn he heard Damian say 'Thank you.'

Around 11:30 that night, as Damian sat watching a Bruce Lee movie on his laptop, he got a message that said he had a new email. Opening his email, he saw that it was from Drake. He was about to delete it unread, but he saw two things that intrigued him enough to open it. First, was a symbol indicating there were a couple attachments in the email. Second, the subject line read _I'm Sorry_.

He opened the email and read the text. _Damian- I'm sorry about this afternoon. I didn't think, when we were laughing, that it would hurt you. It didn't occur to us that you may not have been familiar with the song in question. Believe me, we were not laughing at you. We were laughing at the image of your Robin costume in our minds, fitting into the song. To illustrate this point, look at the first attachment. I took this a few months ago. Then, remember the line Stephanie and I were singing._

Damian opened the first attachment and saw a picture of him, in his Robin uniform. The picture was taken from below as Damian stood on the edge of a rooftop. He had his right foot up on the ledge and his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a young Captain Morgan, his cape blowing in a breeze. As he remembered the line they had sung, Damian could see where they could think it applied. The picture showed vibrantly the red, yellow, and green of his costume. Thinking about it now, it was a little funny, but there was no reason they couldn't have explained that this afternoon.

Damian continued reading. _We didn't mean to hurt your feelings. We just figured that, living with Dick for as long as you have, you have been subjected to his terrible taste in music, just like we all were. I consider you the lucky one, to so far not have been subjected to his plethora of playlists. Just so you know, Dick interrogated us over dinner about what happened. Believe me, we had no idea we were hurting you. I don't know if you will believe me, but you can always come to me. I will help, if I can. So you know that our laughter was really about the song, and not about you, I have attached the Mp3 of the song in question. Please listen to it, then we can find a way to make fun of Dick for his taste in music. Again, I'm sorry._

Damian read the email again, wondering just how sincere Drake was, and if Grayson had forced him to write it. _Does it really matter?_

Damian downloaded the Mp3 to his computer and pressed play. Immediately, he understood how Dick could love the song, as the 1980's synthesizers began their saccharine melody. The song sounded so happy and energetic, Damian could picture Dick dancing around the room as the song played. He didn't understand the lyrics, but heard the line referencing the colors of his uniform several times. By the end of the song, he decided he could forgive them, but not just yet. There had to be some payback for the way they made him feel today.

Damian listened to the song again while looking at the picture of himself in uniform. He then turned off the laptop and tried to get some sleep, wishing he had allowed himself to call downstairs for some food. He had to get up early in the morning for a doctor's appointment. He was getting the bandage off of his arm in the morning.

**A/N: Okay, I didn't think I would get this out so soon, since I am working on another one-shot that I wanted to finish first. That's just how it goes, I'm writing that one and getting all kinds of ideas for this one. Next chapter, and other stories, will be somewhat delayed. Writing time is very short now that I am working two jobs. Next chapter should include some actual tracking of the villain.**

**I've been feeling fluffy lately, so this is a bit heavy on the fluff. I tried to incorporate a few things from reviews in this chapter. A guest reviewer asked how they were going to pay the hospital bill, so there you go. Another guest was excited to see how Alfred would act when he finally got to see Damian again, hope this lived up to your expectations. FireandIce128- I'm trying to keep up with the feels. And to the guest who asked if I was some kind of history genius, the answer is yes. One of my three degrees is in history, so I feel qualified to be referred to as a history genius.**

**Now, the Culture Club reference. I was recently re-reading Kimura Hana's Find Your Way Home (which is an amazing story that I recommend everyone read) and one of the chapters has an interaction between Dick and Damian, where Damian says, "You think I wear yellow and green for fun?" or something like that. I looked at that line and the song just popped in my head. I couldn't finish reading the chapter because I was laughing so hard at the thought of Damian being the Karma Chameleon. I had to find a place to use it, and here was just about as good a place as any. So, thank you Kimura Hana, both for your great story and the inspiration for part of this chapter.**

**Standard Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**


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